Best Served Cold
by Laurie Le May
Summary: Nick seeks revenge on a pair of brothers who ambushed Heath, leaving him gravely injured. This story is dedicated to Peter Breck.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Nick Barkley knew the loss of death, he'd bit his trembling lip and tamped down the hurt. He'd only been a boy of seven, but he remembered the moment as clearly as a bright summer day. His pony, a high spirited appaloosa called Hidalgo, had been bit by a rattler. Father believed it best to never shield the boy from the truth, no matter how painful, and when Tom Barkley entered the corral and shot the animal, Nick did not cry.

Father turned; his face was in shadow. The brim of his Stetson rode low over his brow. Nick took in the stoic expression. The corners of the man's mouth were drawn down, mimicking the lines that creased his stubbled cheeks and jaw. The message was clear. Men don't cry. They don't feel pain.

Father knelt in front of Nick and placed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "It had to be done, boy," he said. "For the sake of the animal. It was suffering."

He gazed at Nick for what seemed a very long time. Nick tried his voice, hoping it would be strong enough to match his father's. "I know, sir."

One solid clap of his shoulder told Nick he'd done well. He'd said the right thing and pleased his father.

Why Nick's mind would take him back to that moment, right now, perplexed him. He'd seen death many times since, but not until this day did the memory revisit him. It made him damned angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his place in it. He pushed a hand through his hair and slammed his fist into the arm of the chair.

"Damn it, how long does it take for a man to ride in from town?" he growled.

Audra startled, her blue eyes coming into focus. She turned from the fireplace where she'd been gazing for God knew how long, not saying a word, barely breathing. She gave him a bit of rebuke in her stern look, but softened almost immediately. "You know they're coming as fast as they can, Nick. Jarrod took our fastest horse. Give them time."

"Time?" Nick tried not to shout, but knew he was losing that battle. "Heath could be dead by the time they get here. I have a half a mind to go fetch him myself if I'd—"

She stared at him with a mixture of shock and grief that made him stop. She'd been through too much already. Both of them had, having just spent the last hours in a desperate battle to stabilize their brother so he would at least have a fighting chance until the doctor arrived.

Clamoring spurs and boot steps and voices entered the front door. Jarrod's voice from the entryway broke the tension. "He's upstairs, doctor, if you'll hurry..."

Nick got to his feet and strode across the room to the stairs. He knew Audra was behind him, but he didn't wait. He passed even Jarrod and the doctor as he took the stairs two at a time. The words came out before he could think. "Bullet wound-in the hip. It's bad, Doc. You've got to help him."

The doctor was putting on his glasses and nodding. "I understand, Mr. Barkley," he said, not making eye contact, but keeping his gaze on the opening door at the top of the stairs.

"He's in here doctor," Mother said as she made way for the old doc to pass through. Her apron was smeared with blood. "We bandaged the wound as best we could."

The doctor entered the room. Mother spared Nick one brief, sorrowful glance before going back inside. A flurry of activity enveloped the Heath's pale and unconscious form.

Nick cursed under his breath, but when he moved to follow them in, a firm hand stopped him.

"Give them room, Nick," Jarrod said.

Nick whirled on Jarrod. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "If the doctor needs help, I want to be in there."

It was Audra who spoke next. "Let me help." Her voice and temperament again, loosened the tension that made Nick want to snap. "I've assisted the doctor before, when Mrs. Arnold had her baby."

She eased her way beside them through the door, giving no room for Nick to protest.

"We need to talk," Jarrod said. His hand was still firm on Nick's shoulder.

It wasn't a demand, but Nick couldn't refuse. There was nothing for him to do here at the house to help Heath, but there sure as hell was something he could do in town. He took a step back from the door. "Those Wilson brothers," he muttered as he moved past Jarrod to go back down the stairs.

Jarrod followed him. "How do you know it was them?"

"They've been boasting all over town about payback. How they were going to go after the Barkley's for 'taking their land.'" Nick stormed into the den where the gun racks waited. He took a rifle from the wall, sited it. "We'll just see who gets the payback now."

Jarrod grabbed the barrel. "This isn't the way."

"Like hell it isn't!"

"We need proof, Nick. Proof that can stand up in court and then we go after them, but with the law behind us."

Nick snarled, jerked the barrel away. "Sometimes a man has to take justice into his own hands to protect his family. Or have you forgotten what Father taught us all those years? Family comes first, Jarrod. Before anything else, even before the law that you love so much."

Jarrod dropped his hand to his side and assessed his brother carefully. "Frontier justice. Is that what you want? It got Father killed."

Nick clenched his jaw and wrapped his fingers tighter around the rifle. The last thing he wanted to do was punch Jarrod in the teeth, but the thought pleased him and his hands trembled to do it, to release some of his building hostility. "Out of my way."

"It's your choice." Jarrod stepped back, gave him room to do as he wanted.

Nick glared at him. His brother was testing him. Maybe he figured Nick wouldn't go if he were given leave to do so. Maybe he figured he would settle down and reconsider. Nick shifted the rifle to the crook of his arm. "You figured wrong," he said. Grabbing his hat from the hook beside him, he strode to the front door and out without another glance back.

Jarrod stood a moment, watching the door as if it might open again. When it didn't, he grabbed his own rifle from the wall and followed his brother.

"God, get us through this night," he said as he shut the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick was already at the stable when he heard the distant sound of the door to the house closing. So, Jarrod followed him out. That was well and good, but Nick's mind was set. Justice, swift and sure was the only course. He'd be damned if the Barkley's would be the only family in this valley to bury a son.

"Nick!" Jarrod shouted.

Ignoring him, Nick opened the stable door wide to enter. Horses, disturbed by the disruption, neighed in the darkness. He leaned the rifle against the wall, felt for the lantern hung on the wooden peg just inside the door, and found the tinderbox to light it. Jarrod walked in as soon as the lantern shed light in the room. He carried his rifle, too.

"So you're coming with me," Nick said, but he didn't exactly want nor need company for what he had to do.

"If you insist on leaving tonight to go on this fool's errand, then yes. I'm going with you." Jarrod said, anger edging his voice. "But you're not using your head, Nick."

"No, I figure on letting this lever action rifle do all the thinking." Nick picked up the rifle and slammed it into a leather saddle holster.

Jarrod mimicked the action with his own rifle, but more slowly and methodically. "You're leaving Mother and Audra here alone to handle this nightmare by themselves? What if Heath dies while you're out there getting yourself killed?"

"My staying here won't change that fact." He took a long steadying breath and turned to adjust the saddle. "You didn't see what I had to see, Jarrod. You don't know the hell he went through."

"Don't give me that. We all know. Mother and Audra are still going through it up there with him and leaving them here to go through this crisis alone—it's unforgivable and you know it."

Nick closed his eyes and braced himself against the saddle rack. Logically, he could see the truth in Jarrod's words. He just couldn't feel it. He clenched the rack so hard that his knuckles were white. "Older brother, do you have to be so damned right every time?"

He struggled for control, but feared he might never get it back. Not after what he saw. He just couldn't shake the vision of finding Heath under the low branches of a sequoia and the blood trail that stretched from him a good fifteen feet. After he was shot, he'd dragged himself out of the blazing sun and lain wounded for hours, slowly bleeding to death. When Nick found him, he thought his brother was already dead. Only a low groan Heath released when Nick rolled him over gave any indication of life.

Nick slumped against the saddle rack with this face in his hands. "I should have been there. I should have been helping him with those fence posts, but I insisted he do the work himself."

"Like any foreman on a ranch, Nick." He felt a hand on his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault."

"Maybe it wasn't, but if I'd been there, those boys would be paying right now." He straightened and turned to his brother, surprisingly calmed. "And they will, Jarrod. As God is my witness, they will pay for what they've done."

"They will," said Jarrod, visibly relieved. He looked as if he'd averted a disaster, at least for the time being. "Let's go back to the house."

Nick dragged a hand through his dark hair and gave a quick nod. He took two steps with his brother, but suddenly turned and pulled the rifle from the holster. Stalking to the open door, he cocked the rifle and aimed into the night. He shot, the blast cutting a path through the darkness. Nick turned back to Jarrod. The fire was still in his eyes, and an oddly satisfied smile crossed his face. "Yessir," he said, weighing the rifle in his hands. "This will do just fine." He turned and strode toward the house.

Jarrod gazed out into the darkness; saw nothing but the lights inside the house. He carried the lantern outside until Nick's target came into view. The branch that fell from the live oak lay on the ground. He picked it up and saw that the severed end was clean cut. Nick's bullet was true. He tossed the branch aside and walked toward the house, wondering how in hell he was going to keep the Wilson brothers alive.


	3. Chapter 3

For Victoria Barkley, this night was the longest in her life. It wasn't the first time she had held her family together in the face of tragedy. Her husband's violent death had been devastating for everyone, but tonight her family suffered even more. The attack on Heath not only caused them more heartache, but it had reopened older emotional wounds and left them bleeding all over again. She longed to turn to her husband now, and ask him for guidance. She wanted his strong arms around her to lighten the burden if only a little bit, but it would never be.

She silently closed the door to Audra's room. The girl had cried herself to sleep, unable to comprehend a world that would allow this kind of violence against her family. Rest was the best thing for her after working through the night to save her brother.

Tears threatened now as Victoria's pride in her daughter blended with the pain of nearly losing Heath. She couldn't cry now. She had to stay strong, for the battle wasn't yet over. But at least the bullet was out and his healing could begin.

She moved quietly down the hallway and stopped by Heath's open door. Jarrod was in the room, speaking to the doctor in low tones. He wore his coat and worried the brim of his hat in his restless hands. When he turned his head, his blue eyes met hers, and he crossed the room to meet her.

"Mother," he said, taking her hand. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You should be resting."

The tenderness in his voice touched her. She cupped his cheek. "I'm alright," she said and then looked at the doctor. "Someone will have to go into town."

"Yes," the doctor said. "I have a made a list of the medications you'll need, but you'll have to go to Sacramento to get them."

"Sacramento?"

"Yes, ma'am. Mining accident last week has me scarce of supplies."

"I've already decided to make the trip," said Jarrod. "If I ride out now, I should be back by tomorrow evening."

"But that's a long time for Heath to wait." She turned her gaze to Heath, who lay so still and pale by the light of a single lamp. She had only known her half-son for a brief time, but had given her heart to him as surely as she had her own children. "Don't you have anything for him now?"

"He has had a dose of morphine, and I have one more that should last him a through the night and part of the day tomorrow. I'm afraid it's the best I can do."

Victoria nodded. "Thank you Doctor, for everything you've done. You will be staying with us tonight, won't you? Silas has prepared a room."

"Thank you Mrs. Barkley. I'm much obliged."

At that moment, Silas appeared at the door. "I'll show you to your room, sir."

The old man closed his medical bag and followed Silas out.

When the two men left, Victoria turned to Jarrod. "Where's Nick?"

"In Father's study."

The concern on Jarrod's face told her all she needed to know. "You go now, and hurry. I'll speak with Nick."

"Mother, I—" Jarrod said, but couldn't seem to find the right words.

She gripped his arm to help reassure him. "He will be here when you get back."

Her word was enough for her eldest son. He gave her a slight smile. "I won't be long."

Victoria watched him leave and felt her strength weaken. She covered her mouth with her hand when she felt the trembling and the tightness in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut. One more son to talk to, one who would likely need her guidance the most. She straightened, gathered what was left of her courage, and left the room to find Nick.

She found him slumped in the leather chair behind Tom's big oak desk. He was facing the window that looked over the road leading from the house, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one boot crossed over the other. A whiskey bottle sat on the desk next to a full glass. His hand lay still on the table in front of it.

She went to the desk, picked up the bottle, and held it to her as if to shield him from it. "You haven't been—"

"Not a drop," he said. "Not that I didn't want to. I just couldn't."

His eyes were red, but it didn't seem to be the result of whiskey. She let it go and moved to sit in a chair nearby.

A long time passed where neither of them spoke, only the sound of the ticking clock and the dim light of two lamps kept them company.

Nick took a breath. "Thought I might—" he began, but he stopped and rubbed the back of his neck.

Victoria looked at him expectantly, knowing it took time for her younger son to open up to her.

His eyes went to hers briefly, then he looked away. "I won't be able to sleep tonight. I'll stay up with Heath. You should rest, Mother. I'll be leaving in a few hours so…"

"Where are you going?"

"Stockton. Sheriff needs to be filled in and ah, I have some people to see."

"People to see?"

Nick continued as if she'd said nothing. "Might take a good bit of the day. I'll be back by the time Jarrod comes home. Just like you promised." He sent her a half-smile and drummed his fingers by the whiskey glass.

How he knew what she'd promised Jarrod, she couldn't guess, but she didn't pursue it. She relaxed into the soft leather chair. "I don't doubt that, Nick. You're the kind of man who, once he sets his mind on something, gets it done, no matter what may stand in his way."

Nick raised his brows and gave a nod of agreement. "Sounds like me."

"In most situations, that kind of man gets what he wants. He's a successful and productive kind of man who can look around him and recognize the good in all that he has accomplished." Victoria sat up and gazed intently at her son. "But that kind of man must be sure that what he wants will be something he can not only live with, but something he can be proud of."

Nick met his mother's eyes and after a moment, he rose from the chair and downed the whiskey. He hissed at the burn the liquor left in his throat and put down the glass. "Sometimes a man like that has to do whatever he can just to keep someone else from taking what's his. What happened to Heath can't stand, Mother. It can't. There's only one good that could come out of this thing. And I'm going to see it done."

Victoria stood. "You don't mean you're going after the Wilson brothers?"

"I'm going after them, but as I said, I'm going to the Sheriff first. Give him a chance to come along."

"Nick…"

He rounded the desk and put up a hand as he approached her. "I don't mean to discuss it with you, Mother. I don't want to make tonight any more painful than it already is. I'll be alright. You just need to trust me." He took her by the shoulders. "Can you do that?"

Nick was hot-headed at times, but he had never done something serious without completely thinking it through. Though she was still uneasy, she relented. "Of course, I can."

"Then, there's nothing to worry about."

As they left the study together, Victoria Barkley couldn't help but find plenty to worry about.


	4. Chapter 4

During the time spent in Heath's room, Nick couldn't settle down. He couldn't keep his mind still. There were too many contingencies to think about. Too many what-ifs. He paced around like a caged panther. He longed for the sun to rise so he could be on his way,to get out from under this dark cloud that had hung over him since yesterday. Heath didn't move nor make a sound. He was deep in that drug-induced oblivion the doctor had put him in, and so was unaware of the turmoil Nick was going through.

It killed Nick to see Heath this way. He didn't resemble the healthy young man he had been only a few hours ago. Just this side of death, his skin was of a pallid hue, but for around his eyes, where they were dark and sunken in appearance.

When last they spoke, the air was crisp and the sun was bright. Heath was in high spirits. they'd talked about the future of the ranch, speculated on the new hires they would need in the spring, and even talked about which girl each of them wanted to take to the harvest dance in October, getting a laugh out of the fact that the girls they picked turned out to be sisters.

Jarrod had been right that leaving Heath to dig a few fence posts alone wasn't anything unusual and was nothing for Nick to think twice about. It was just a job. But if he had been there to help his brother out, the Wilsons likely wouldn't have shown themselves at all. One man alone and unprepared to defend himself had proven to be an easy target.

Nick's feet itched to be moving. He already gave those Wilson boys enough time to get their carcasses clear across into Nevada if they had a mind to run, which they probably did. He moved to the open window where the curtains billowed lightly in the morning air.

Outside, a band of pink sky edged the horizon. Small morning birds called and answered each other. It wouldn't be long before sun-up and the household would be functioning again. Soon, he could be on his way.

He was about to turn from the window, to set into his pacing again when he heard the soft clopping of hooves. He looked out. He couldn't see who it was that approached the house, but it was a single rider. Couldn't be Jarrod, not this soon. Sacramento and back was a good day's ride. He watched a form take shape as it came closer to the house. Nick braced his hands on the windowsill and squinted against the shadows to see who this lone rider was. Then recognition came. "Son-of-a-bitch."

He was down the stairs and out on the porch just as the visitor arrived. He was about 55 years of age. He looked a good ten years older from living hard, but Nick had no room for any kind of sympathy for the man who had sired two killers. "Now, you just stay up on that old plug of yours," said Nick, "and ride on back where you came from. I don't have a quarrel with you. At least not yet."

Wilson removed his hat. He did look like a sorry, tired old fellow with a week's worth of beard and covered head-to-toe with dust from the road. He combed calloused fingers once through his stringy salt and pepper hair. He swallowed. "M-mornin', Mr. Barkley."

Nick gave a wry laugh. "'Mornin', Mr. Barkley.' That's what you rode all the way out here to say?" He wanted to yank the man off the horse and shake him until his teeth rattled. "You've got a lot of gall coming here after what you're boys did to my brother."

"That's why I come here, to make peace. If'n I can."

"Why aren't those cowards with you, Wilson?" Nick countered. "You buying time so they can skedaddle out of town and save their skins?" He stepped off the porch. His hands balled into fists. "You just ride on out of here. I don't mean to come after you, but if you're protecting those two devils you call sons, then I'll just have to—"

"Nick!"

He winced and muttered a curse.

Mother stood at the doorway, clutching her robe together at the throat. Righteous anger showed in the way she carried herself, rod straight, sending Nick a warning look.

He felt the wind go out of his sails, and put his hands on his hips.

"Come in, Mr. Wilson," Mother said, curtly, "You must understand my son; we've had a most troubling night."

Nick shook his head at the ground as Wilson Sr. climbed down from his horse and shuffled by. He glared at the old man as he stepped onto the Barkley porch, and Mother invited him inside.

"Well, now doesn't this just beat all?" he muttered. He climbed the steps and stalked in behind them.

Once inside, Victoria spoke first, leaving no room for Nick to start in again. If he frightened Mr. Wilson too badly, she would never learn what she needed to know…if the Wilson brothers had actually committed the crime. She did not invite the man to sit down. "Mr. Wilson, I will not mince words with you, too much has happened between our families to pretend civility can still be intact."

"No ma'am, I reckon it's not."

"My son is upstairs with a hole torn through his gut from a bullet shot by one of yours. He could be dying."

"I know. ..and I'm sorry for what my boy done. I truly I am."

Victoria's heart went to her throat. She'd thought it would take a few more minutes to get the truth if it was to be had, but Wilson apparently was all too eager to lay down his burden.

"That's what I come to tell you, Mrs. Barkley. Willie Clay…my older boy, I took him in to Stockton early this mornin'. He's sittin' in the jailhouse right now. He told me what happened. He told me everything, how he and Eli were makin' those awful threats the week before. How they was tellin' anybody who'd listen that they were gonna make the Barkley's pay." He shook his head vehemently. "That piece of land. It aint worth what happened to your boy. I never claimed such, never wanted any of this to happen, but Willie Clay—he's cut from a different cloth. Like he aint my boy sometimes. He can go crazy, do things a decent man would never think of. He was always trouble for me and his ma, God rest her soul. We tried to teach him right from wrong, and now this." He crumpled the brim of his hat and cast his gaze to the floor. "He's a grown man. There's nothing I can do but let the law take its course."

"So, let me get this straight," Nick said, putting himself between Victoria and Wilson. "Willie Clay told you he rode onto this ranch yesterday and shot my brother, and you, being the upright man you are, just up and took him to the Stockton jail. Willie Clay obliging in all of this, I suppose. And now, that's the end of it. Do you really expect us to swallow such a heap of lies?"

"It's the truth. All of it." Wilson looked up, gave Victoria an imploring look. "I'm sorry, truly I am."

Victoria turned away, suddenly sick to her stomach to have that man pleading and acquiescing so completely. It seemed too easy, too clean to have a confession so soon and Heath's attacker neatly placed behind bars…and by his own flesh and blood. "Please leave this house, Mr. Wilson." Her voice broke. "May God have mercy on your son."

She didn't turn nor look back, but walked away into the parlor. When Wilson left the house, and she could no longer hear the sound of the horse's hooves, she spoke. "Nick."

The sound of Nick's slow boot steps came back from the entryway.

"I want you to ride into town. See for yourself if that boy is in jail like he said."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then," Victoria said, turning to face her son, eyes blazing and wet with tears. "I want you to do what you believe is right."


	5. Chapter 5

The words of Victoria Barkley stayed with her son as he rode off to Stockton. "Do what you believe is right."

She was distraught, had let down her emotional guard, and implied something she may not have meant. But Nick knew that even in such an agitated state, Victoria would never advocate vengeance. No. More like, she was admitting that this problem had no clear answer.

So, what_ did_ he believe then? If he found the Wilson brothers on this road right now, he would probably shoot them. An hour ago, he didn't see anything wrong with that. An eye for an eye. A brother for a brother. But perhaps it was the sun beating down on him and the steady clop of the horse's hooves putting distance between him and the ranch that cleared his head some.

If he had taken off last night, half-crazy as he was, he could have gotten himself or Jarrod killed. It was just him now, and though tired, he still held his judgment intact. He considered the possibility he could be wrong, that his thoughts of revenge could snare him. Only a fool would drive himself into a trap like that. Nick Barkley was no fool.

Then again, he wasn't a man to let an injustice go unpunished. Heath had been ambushed and left to die like an animal, even if he wasn't his brother Nick would still want justice. The Wilsons were cowards plain and simple. Cowards like them deserved swift and sure retribution, be it by law, or… vigilante. Nick's mouth twisted in a wry smile. Vigilante. He supposed he might be just that.

When the city of Stockton came into view, Nick pulled the brim of his hat a notch lower over his eyes. He was ready for whatever would come up against him in town.

Nick walked into the sheriff's office hoping at least one Wilson brother was behind bars and praying for two.

Sheriff Madden glanced up from his desk when the door opened, and Nick saw from the dark circles under the man's eyes and the stubbly shadow on his jaw that he didn't get much sleep last night either.

"Nick, I don't want any trouble," Madden said, already getting up from his desk.

Nick opened his mouth to say a few words in defense when he noticed that his own hand had instinctively gone to his gun belt. He spread his fingers and lifted his hand slowly away from the holster. "I'm a little tense." He opened his palms, held out his arms slightly to show no bad intent. "A lot on my mind, Sheriff. Hoping I might find a Wilson in your lockup."

"Is 'at a Barkley I hear, Sheriff?" came a voice from one of the cells in the back. "He come to shoot me?"

Willie Clay stood in a cell, both hands wrapped tightly around the bars. Nick wanted to punch the teeth out of that nasty grin, but he held his ground, deciding to focus on the one clear-headed man in the room.

"You can see, we've got one of them," said the Sheriff stepping around his desk. "And we've got a confession."

Nick crossed his arms—the better to keep from shooting Willie Clay— and eyed Madden carefully. "A confession? What about the other one? Eli?"

"Now, don't you be thinking about putting Eli in your sites, Nick. He has a solid alibi. He was at the waterfront all day, sleeping off a drunk down at Barbary Red's."

"You call that a solid alibi?" Nick said. "You could give a nickel to half the whores in town, and they'd repeat anything you tell them to."

"Wasn't just whores who backed his story, Nick. There were other witnesses; town folk who saw him enter the saloon last night. I saw him come stumbling out of the place myself, 'round 3'oclock yesterday afternoon."

"An hour before I found my brother shot through," said Nick. "Plenty of time for that coward to ride back to town."

"True enough," said Madden. He glanced at the open door to the holding cells where Willie Clay listened to everything. The sheriff moved to close it.

"Don't shut me out sheriff!" Willie Clay said. "I got something to say to Nick Barkley!"

"Shut up, or I'll hog tie you and gag you, too."

Nick held up a hand. "Wait a second, Sheriff. Might be Willie Clay has some more 'confessing' to do." He moved slowly to the door. "You got something to say to me, then say it."

Willie Clay's smile broadened, flashing a dark gray tooth. "I just got a question for ya, Barkley." He snorted out a laugh. "Did I kill him?"

Nick was at the cell in an instant. He reached between the bars and grabbed Willie by the shirt, the smell of sweat and dirt clung to the miscreant like the garbage he was and the stench of his sour shirt turned his stomach.

The metal tip of Nick's .380 revolver disappeared into the sweaty flesh of Willie's neck. "You didn't kill him." Nick hissed. "Funny thing about Barkley's. We're hard to kill. If I were you-and I thank God I'm not-I'd be on my knees and praying that Heath Barkley lives, because if he doesn't, I swear I'll come in here and shoot you dead where your standing."

Willie's red, watery eyes went to his. "What's stoppin' you now?"

Nick tightened his grip.

"Let him go, Nick."

There was a click. Nick knew the sound. He released Willie and slowly lowered and holstered the gun.

Madden seemed to sense that the critical moment passed and lowered his weapon too. "Best you be on your way. Let the law handle this."

Nick backed away from the cell, deliberately keeping hands palm-up, not certain he could keep control of his gun hand. "Yeah. We'll see how the law handles this, Sheriff."

The tone in Nick's voice had Madden on edge. He shut the door between Nick and his target. "I'm sorry for what happened to Heath. He's a good man, lots of folks are rattled about this, and by God I'd feel the same if I were in your place. But I have to view this from the eyes of the law. Regardless of Willie's confession, he is innocent until proven guilty. Now, a judge will be arriving in a week—"

"A week is long enough for Eli to disappear into Mexico. Aren't you going after him?"

"I've said my piece. Let the law do its job. In the meantime, you would do well to heed my advice. Get out of town and stay away from Eli Wilson, or you'll end up in a cell next to Willie Clay. How does a double murder trial sound to you?"

Nick returned the sheriff's glare, but thinking better of it, he smiled. "Doesn't sound too good, Sheriff," he said. "Maybe I _could_ use some cooling down. I'll leave Stockton, since you asked."

"I wasn't asking," Madden said.

Without another word, Nick turned and walked as calmly as he could from the office and out of Madden's view. Outside, he took in a long, head-clearing breath and scanned the bustling town. Wouldn't hurt if, on his way out of Stockton, he did a bit of his own investigating. Vaulting into his saddle, he rode in the direction of Barbary Red's.


	6. Chapter 6

Nick scanned the open windows above the worn waterfront saloon before dismounting. Not a soul in sight behind those gauzy curtains. Probably empty this time of day; overnight clients usually left earlier than Eli Wilson allegedly did. Most men didn't want to be noticed coming out of such a place in broad daylight. They would try to save what they could of their reputations after spending a night there, but Eli Wilson had made a scene by 'stumbling'out of the place at 3 pm, making sure he was noticed by not only passersby, but the sheriff himself. Nick didn't believe it was a coincidence. The wrong brother was in the lock-up.

A problem lay in the fact there was only one bullet that shot Heath. One bullet from one gun. Nick doubted Willie Clay had enough gumption to shoot a man in cold blood. He'd known the Wilson's long enough to figure that Willie was more mouth than action. He might have done most of the talking when he and Eli were spouting off about the Barkley's, but Eli was reserved. A thinker.

It was Eli who first accused the Barkleys of stealing their land. He had discovered sketchy calculations in his father's deed that might have given the Wilsons a little strip of the Barkley's prettiest grazing land through which most of the water for their south range ran. If diverted, it could have easily served the Wilson farm. Taking the accusation to court was a bold and calculated move for a farmer's son who had earned no more than a fifth grade education. Wilson's claim was so detailed that he had almost convinced a judge of the lie. Even Jarrod had been impressed by his shrewdness. He was capable of anything as far as Nick was concerned. He was the one whose confession Nick wanted to hear, and he'd get it if he had to tear it out of him.

He dismounted and approached the saloon.

Of all the saloons in Stockton, Nick had never actually walked into this one. Something about it made his skin crawl. Rumor had it that sometimes men went in Barbary Red's and never came out. As a rule, Nick didn't put much weight to rumors, but he kept his hand near his holster anyway as he entered the establishment.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark interior, the first things Nick noticed were the smell of tobacco and liquor and the tinkering of a piano being tuned. A couple of patrons, men in business attire sat among empty tables discussing papers and eating breakfasts. A young lady in plain clothing swept beneath the tables and a tall, bear of a man set up a register behind the bar. No one noticed Nick walk in.

"I'm looking for Barbary Red." Nick announced loudly enough so even people upstairs couldn't help but hear.

The piano went silent and all eyes looked at him.

"She's not here," the man behind the bar said. He shut the cash drawer. "She's in Sacramento. Won't be back for a few days."

The man seemed to think that was enough information to give and picking up a crate, he disappeared into a back room. The piano tinkering and conversing resumed.

Nick glanced at the dark-haired young lady in the back whose broom had gone still. When their eyes met, she averted her gaze to the floor and began to slowly brush at the dirt.

He walked to the bar and braced his hands against it, awaiting the man's return. When the man came out of the back room, the look on his face was that of resignation. "Alright, mister. Whatever Red's done, surely it's not something can't be fixed."

"We'll see about that." Nick straightened. "You say she's out of town. Was she here yesterday?"

"No." The man took a cigar from a tray and popped it in his mouth. He gave Nick a good hard look, then a slow smile spread across his face. "Name's Jack." He stuck out his hand in an easy, companionable way. "I'm the manager of this establishment. What can I do for you?"

Nick ignored the proffered hand. "You can tell what you know about a man named Eli Wilson."

Jack hardly flinched, but there was a perceptible change in his eyes. He let his hand drop to a cloth and began wiping the bar. "Eli Wilson," he said. "Don't know that I recall any man by that name."

"He was a patron of yours two nights ago." Nick put a hand on his hip, next to the holster so Jack might understand the seriousness of his inquiry. "His brother is in jail for shooting Heath Barkley. I'm Nick Barkley, so you can see why I want to suss out his story."

"Look, we run a respectable business here. And we don't go 'round dishing on the private affairs of our customers. Even if he did stay here, I wouldn't tell you about it. I don't care who you are."

Another man came up to the bar and stood close enough so that Nick could smell rancid liquor on his breath.

"Problem here, Jack?"

"Nah. He was just leaving, weren't you Mr. Barkley?"

Nick turned his head slowly to eye the newcomer. The man had a scar that ran from ear to collarbone and dark, heavy brows and freshly waxed mustache. His small dark eyes flicked over Nick, sizing him up.

"Think I'll take a whiskey," Nick said, eyeing the mustached man. "The road was dusty this morning. Left my throat a little parched."

"We only carry the expensive stuff," Jack said.

"That'll be perfect."

"It's alright Frank," Jack told the mustached man as he readied a glass. "Barkley gets one drink. Then he hits the road."

Frank nodded once and when Jack set the whiskey down, Frank swiped the glass and sauntered to a table.

"I guess you're paying for two, Mr. Barkley." Jack flashed a grin and handed Nick another whiskey.

Nick's lip curled, and he slapped a few bills on the counter. Taking the whiskey, he leaned against the bar and scanned the room again.

The girl with the broom hadn't moved from the spot. She let her gaze meet his this time, and she gave a perceptible nod toward the open back door. She glanced at the mustached man, a little more than nervous and then leaning the broom against the wall, she quietly stepped outside.

The mustached man still watched him from the table. He lifted his glass in a salutary gesture and downed the rest of the whiskey Nick just paid for. Nick felt a fire burn in the pit of his stomach. He so despised having to sneak out of this place just to see what a little barmaid had to say to him, especially when a stranger was trying to goad him into a fight.

Maybe he could do both.

Nick finished off the drink and set the glass on the bar. He walked over to Frank with the waxed mustache. "You owe me a drink, friend."

Frank pushed back from the table and stood. He spit on the floor. He was a thin man, but he stood at least an inch and a half taller. Nick spared a glance at Frank's gun belt. Frank reached for the buckle and started to remove the weapon. Nick cracked his knuckles and did the same. When both weapons were laid on a felt covered pool table, Nick smiled and threw the first punch.

Sometimes you know instantly when you've met your match, and sometimes it takes a few punches, a few chairs across your back, a few smashing tables to realize a simple error in judgment. This was Nick's moment of realization. Frank fought like a bull, but Nick had needed this fight more than anything.

They rounded each other, each looking for the next move. Frank sported a cut over his eye and blood trickled from his nose, but he smiled and appeared to be enjoying himself. Nick rolled his eyes and lunged. He heard a resounding "Oof!" when his shoulder made contact with Frank's midsection. They crashed into the now unmanned upright piano. The cacophony of the hammers hitting strings inside the contraption preceded a shotgun blast.

"I don't have no trouble with men who want to fight!" growled Jack. He held the shotgun high. "When they break my piano, they cross the line. You alright Frank?"

"Yeah." Frank sat on the floor panting; he spit blood.

Nick saw that his opponent was spent. It was too bad Frank chose the wrong man to side with. In another circumstance, they might have been friends. Nick got up, straightened his sore back and grabbed his gun belt from the pool table.

"Now, you get on outa here, Barkley," ordered Jack, "before I get the sheriff and have him arrest you for breaking up my place."

Nick eyed a water pump outside. "Just let me wash up first. Then I'll be on my way."

"You just hurry up." Jack snarled. "I've had it with you." Jack lowered the shotgun and stretched out a hand to Frank, who, Nick noticed, refused the offer of help and got to his feet on his own.

Nick slung his gun belt over his shoulder and limped outside. Maybe he was getting too old for this. He rubbed his jaw and ran his tongue along his mouth to make sure he still had all his teeth. That Frank had an incredible right hook and a left too for that matter. He leaned over the water trough and started to prime the pump.

"Let me do it," said the girl who had been waiting for him outside all this time. "You shouldn't pick a fight with Frank. He's cold. I seen him throw a man from the upstairs balcony and then sit and smoke a pipe like it was nothin'."

"Too late for warnings, Miss," said Nick. "I think I understand Frank about as much as I care too. I just hope he feels as bad as I do right now."

She laughed. "I watched the whole thing, and believe me, he does."

The water gushed out of the pump, and Nick splashed cool bliss on his face. He felt his nose to make sure it wasn't broken and cleaned up as best he could. His mother had enough to worry about without him dragging into the house needing medical attention.

The girl handed him a cloth to wipe his face. Nick gave it a once over and decided it was clean enough to use. He dabbed at the water and the bruises on his face.

"You wanted to tell me something."

"I do and Frank'll kill me if he sees me talking to you," she said, "but when you walked in earlier, I recognized you right off as Heath's brother. You got the same kinda look about ya...like, I don't know, like you own any place you walk into or somethin'. A girl notices things like that."

"How do you know Heath?" Nick never heard his brother talk about Barbary Red's. "He ever come here?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Gosh no, you think Heath would come into a place like this? My name's Sheila. I'm from Strawberry. I knowed Heath from a while back. Got me out of a real jam onced. I won't forget it." She glanced back at the saloon and then back to Nick. "When I heard about Heath bein' shot, I was all torn up. I didn't want to believe it. Is he gonna be okay?"

Nick let out a sigh and handed her the towel. "I don't know. He's in a bad way, Sheila. If you want to help, you need to tell me what you know so I can make sure the right man is punished."

"I know I'll be whipped for this." She closed her eyes and steeled herself. She fisted the towel in her hands. "Eli was here night before, but I remember him sneakin' away around five am. That's when I'm usually startin' work. I thought it awful suspicious for him to be all shadowy and leadin' his horse a good bit away before climbing on and riding off. He walked that horse a good half mile before mounting. I know 'cause I followed him."

"Did you see him come back?"

She shook her head. "No, but I was workin' in the dining room when seen him makin' his way back upstairs around one o'clock—or one thirty. I thought it strange that he didn't wear his spurs. Most men, they come in and too tired to take off their spurs before goin' up to bed. I'm used to hearin' the jingle as they go up. Eli was all quiet, and most men don't go upstairs till late anyways. So he kinda got my attention thata way." She looked up at him with wide green eyes. "Does that help you Mr. Barkley?"

"Does it help me?" He asked with a big grin spreading across his face. A cut on his lip opened up, and he winced. "Honey, you have just made this trip into Stockton worthwhile. I'll make sure Heath knows how Sheila from Strawberry helped put his attacker in jail."

Sheila bit her lip and smiled. "I'd be much obliged."

Nick took the gun belt from his shoulder and settled it around his hips. "I hate to accept your hospitality and run, but I have a man to find."

"You won't find Eli in town," she said.

Nick looked up. "You know where I might find him?"

She twisted the towel in her hands. "All I know is the sheriff told him to git out of town. To lay low a while. He might be back home. I aint sure though."

"Thank you, Sheila. You've been a big help."

"I'd do anything for Heath. He brought food for me and my momma when she was sick. I knew he couldn't afford it, but he gave anyway. A girl don't forget a kindness like that."

Nick smiled. "No, I don't expect she would."

She clasped her hands in front of her. "Could I…I mean, would it be alright if I visited when he's better and feelin' up to it? I'd like to thank him for bein' a friend to me when I needed it most."

"Why, Sheila, we'd be happy to have you."

She grinned. "I really need to go. Thank you, Mr. Barkley." She rushed off, back into the saloon to clean up the mess.

Nick slowly started walking around the perimeter of the saloon, working out the kinks in his step and the general, all-over soreness. It would be a long trip back to the ranch, where he'd rest up a bit and if things were going as well as could be expected, he'd head out to the Wilson farm. He didn't suppose he'd find Eli there, but it would be a good place as any to start.


	7. Chapter 7

Because the doctor left the Barkley ranch early in order to visit another critical patient, Victoria tried to do for Heath as the doctor instructed. Keep him cool, get fluids in him, and the doctor's last words of advice were to pray. He would be back as soon as he was able.

Victoria was already doing a lot of praying, not only for Heath, but for Jarrod to ride quickly from Sacramento with the medicine Heath so desperately needed, and for Nick to come home safely. She didn't care anymore about the Wilsons; justice would find them in the end. She only wanted her family to be whole and together again.

"God give us strength," she whispered. She placed a fresh cool cloth on Heath's forehead. His fever was so high that even though he'd awakened several times, he did not know where he was or what had happened to him.

"Mother," he said. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't looking at her, but through her to someone or someplace she couldn't comprehend.

She grasped his hand, and it burned like an iron. "I'm here, Heath." She searched his face for any sign he recognized her. "I'm here."

"Please…someone help me." His voice was weak, and his words broken. "Get me home…"

"You _are_ home," Victoria said. She squeezed his hand fervently trying to convey her presence to him, and for a moment, his hand was strong and held onto hers. She sensed her late husband in that strength, and it bolstered her courage. "You are my son, Heath. This is your home!"

Then, as if that assurance was all he needed, his grip slackened, and he slipped back down into unconsciousness.

Victoria pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. The skin burned so hot she wanted to weep, but a weeping woman wouldn't do him or the rest of her family any good. She closed her eyes and prayed.

When Nick rode up to the house, he scanned the exterior. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, maybe a sign that all was well at the Barkley homestead. He imagined a better day, with Audra stepping out in her riding clothes, smiling up at him and begging him to go ride with her. He was always too busy these days. She never gave up on inviting him though and he promised himself, when this was all over and Heath was better, he would take her up on the offer. If he learned anything at all from this it was to never take his family for granted again.

The outside of the house didn't tell him anything.

"May I take your horse, Seῆor Nick?" asked a stable boy.

Nick looked down. He hadn't realized he had stopped and had sat staring at the house. "Si, Pedro. If only I can get out of this saddle." He was joking, but his body was downright sore. If he ever came across that Frank with the waxed mustache again, he'd still fight him—any day; didn't matter how sore he was. The bastard deserved a licking.

When Nick climbed out of the saddle, he found he could actually straighten his back. Good sign.

"Are you alright, seῆor?" Pedro asked. "Did you meet a wildcat on the road?"

_Intuitive_, Nick thought. "You could say that, but I took care of him alright."

"Si, I knew you would. May I take your horse?"

The dark haired boy was twelve and even when he was showing concern, he couldn't help but grin. This boy loved the horses. Especially Coco, who had a particular affection for the lad as well. Coco nuzzled at the boy's hand in search of sugar.

"He's all yours," Nick said as he offered the boy the reigns.

"Gracias." The boy took the reins, but didn't budge. He seemed to sense Nick's melancholy mood. "Seῆor Nick, there is no need to feel sad. Seῆor Heath will get better."

"How do you know that?"

"God showed me in a dream. Seῆor Heath was teaching me how to break a wild mustang. He promised he would teach me after my birthday." Pedro put on his hat and adjusted the brim low. "I'll be thirteen in a few weeks." He smiled again and turned to lead Coco to the stable. He clicked softly. "_Adelante._ Come."

_Out of the mouths of babes_, Nick thought. He removed his hat and knocked some road dust off his pants and started toward the house.

He tried a side-door thinking he could side-step confrontations with family until he'd cleaned himself up and made the scratches and bruises a little less frightful. He'd caught a glimpse of his appearance reflected in a window and realized nothing could hide a cut and swollen black eye and the cut lip not to mention the slight limp he received when he'd body-slammed into the piano. Damn that Frank with the waxed mustache. One day he'll pay for more than that drink.

All thoughts of slipping into the house unnoticed flew out the window when he spotted the bowl of fresh fruit on the kitchen table. He tossed his dusty hat on the table and exchanged it for a shiny red apple, and as he moved toward the dining room, he hungrily bit the sweet-tasting fruit near in half. He walked through the house and found Audra descending the stairs, carrying a bundle of linens to the wash. She glanced up when she saw him.

"Nick," she said in a soft, astonished voice. "When did you get back? I didn't see you ride up." Then she noticed. Her mouth dropped and her eyes widened. Her voice went as cold as ice. "Eli Wilson?"

"No." Meeting her on the stairs, he wouldn't elaborate further on the fight. "How's Heath?"

She frowned. "He's feverish, and when he's awake, he's confused, but Mother says she sees improvement. She thinks he'll be alright."

Nick nodded. "That's good. That's good." He really wanted to see for himself, but the distress in his sister made him pause. "What is it, little sister? Is there something you need to tell me?"

She gave a small laugh. "You always could read me like a book," she said. "I'm worried about you. When I woke up this morning, you were gone. No one could really tell me anything. Or maybe they wouldn't for fear of worrying me. But it's too late to save me from that. I've been waiting all morning for you to come home and now…well, look at you." She blinked fast as if to fight tears. "I can see my fears were well-founded."

"Not really, Audra," Nick replied. "Don't you trust your brother to take care of himself?"

"Well, no," she admitted, but she nodded to the bundle in her arms. "I'm taking these to the wash. When I'm finished, I'll get you some salve for that cut under your eye and while I'm bandaging up your other hurts, I'm going to give you a very stern talking-to."

Nick laughed. "I look forward to it."

He left his sister and headed for Heath's room. When he entered, he saw his mother sitting next to a window reading her bible by the afternoon light. She looked up. She must have noticed his condition, given the glint of understanding in her eyes, but she said nothing about it. She folded a ribbon into the bible and closing it, laid it on her lap. "The doctor told us that the next few days are critical for Heath," she began. "The fever will have to run its course. If he survives that, he should recover, but it's going to be very hard for him."

"I know. I met the doctor on the road when I was coming in. Tried my damnedest to convince him to stay."

"He had to go. Maria Bellamy has been in labor for two days. He might have to take the baby."

"And the world keeps turning," Nick muttered

"Nick, I'm sorry for the way I spoke this morning. I sent you to town with an idea that I wanted you to—"

"Mother," Nick said, lifting his hand. "We both felt the same. Abe Wilson shouldn't have come here this morning. It was too soon. He shouldn't expect us to greet him with open arms. Besides, nothing has happened to Eli yet. He's still a free man."

Mother leaned slightly forward. "You mean the other is in jail as his father said?"

"Yes, the illustrious Willie Clay Wilson is at this moment being well taken care of in the Stockton jail. Sheriff said the trial is set for next week as soon as the judge arrives."

"What about Eli?"

Nick propped his hands on his hips. "He still needs to be brought in. Willie confessed, so Madden believes he has the right brother in jail."

"But he doesn't."

"No."

"Jarrod is due back soon. We'll all have a discussion about where we proceed from here. If we go after him, we're going to do it right, with planning and with help from the law or by our own collective judgment."

"Alright, Mother. I—"

There was a crash. Nick spun toward the sound and found Heath trying to sit up. He had flung his arm out and smashed the lamp next to his bed.

Nick rushed to him and grabbed his arms, but Heath was already falling back into his bed. He thrashed, struggling against Nick's hold. "Heath!" Nick said. "Heath, stop."

"I have to get up. I have to warn Nick."

"I'm here, Heath."

Heath's eyes focused on him. "Nick?" he said, his thrashing eased. "Is it you?"

"It's me." Nick said. He exchanged a glance with Mother who was now beside him. "Now what are you all worked up about, brother? You need to settle down so you don't pop your stitches."

"Stitches?" he said weakly. "Why do I…aw mighty, but I hurt." He groaned and bit his lip.

"Jarrod will be here soon with pain medicine," Mother told him. "Just hold on."

"Mother." He was seeing her for the first time, but the fever still had hold of his senses. "They sh-shot me. I have to warn Nick."

"Warn me about what?" Nick interjected.

"I have to tell him." Heath began, groaned again and squeezing his eyes shut, he said, "They want him dead."


	8. Chapter 8

"If the Wilson's wanted me dead, they would have shot me, not Heath." Nick paced in front of the stone fireplace where a warm crackling fire ebbed. It was just after an early supper, and dusk was settling in on the Barkley ranch.

Jarrod sat on a nearby sofa. He rubbed his eyes; exhaustion taking hold. The ride from Sacramento had been a long, grueling trip, one in which he did not stop to rest. "We can't discount what Heath told you, even if it was from fever. The medications the doctor gave him had worn off. He may have been completely lucid. Besides, you know Eli Wilson. You understand what he's capable of."

"Eli and I have had words in the past, so maybe I can see why he'd go after me, but he didn't have a quarrel with Heath. That's what I don't understand." Nick propped an elbow on the mantle and stared at the sizzling embers.

"He was a man bent on murder, that we know for certain," Jarrod offered. "And a man in that state of mind isn't necessarily going to be logical."

"That _boy_ needs to be put down like a rabid wolf."

"Fast justice is rarely the better course, Brother Nick." Jarrod took a sip from a snifter of the cognac, savoring the warm, spicy liquor. "When we go to the Wilson place tomorrow, we'll need the law with us. From what you tell me, it sounds like Sheriff Madden isn't our man."

Nick turned and shot Jarrod a bitter look. "He told me to keep my nose out of it. He threatened to put me in the lock up if I wasn't careful."

One corner of Jarrod's mouth twitched up. "Sounds like a clear message." A modicum of relief came over him. It seemed as if his hot-headed brother was coming to reason about the entire affair. He'd have to remember to thank Madden for cooling Nick down. "However, we won't need the sheriff, at least, not at this point. When I was in Sacramento, I spoke to Bill Lenders."

"Bill Lenders. Wasn't he an old law school friend of yours? The one who works out of San Francisco?"

"That's the one. He had some business in Sacramento and was just leaving town when I ran into him. When I told him what happened to Heath, he said there was a federal marshal in Stockton who might be willing to help us. He wasn't keen on divulging much about the man, just that he's been involved in an ongoing investigation in town. I thought I would go into Stockton tomorrow to find him and enlist his services."

"What's his name?" Nick asked.

"Ray Collins."

"Never heard of him."

"Neither had I, but Bill says he's just the man to see. He's a former Texas Ranger with a reputation for a somewhat 'flexible' approach to law enforcement. "

"Indian fighter, eh? I wouldn't mind having a man like that backing us up," Nick said. "How are you going to find him? There are a lot of strangers in Stockton who could pass for a Ranger."

"Oh, I'm sure I can spot him. He's a bit of a rogue and apparently, he fancies a unique style of mustache."

Nick's face dropped. "You can't be serious."

"I am. Why?"

"Never mind. I'll go into town with you. I'd like to see this joker for myself. He'd better be worth the time. Eli Wilson is getting a mighty big head start." Nick stretched and yawned. "Well, I'm going to bed. If I'm going to be alert tomorrow, I have to get some shut-eye."

Jarrod nodded. "Agreed. I could use some sleep myself."

"Good night, then." Nick said. "Be up bright and early. I don't want to lose any more time."

"Five o'clock sharp." Jarrod said.

When Nick left the room, Jarrod sipped the last of the cognac and set the glass on the side table. He stretched out his legs. He was so tired; he didn't want to move from his spot. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He had nearly drifted off when he heard his mother's soft footsteps and the swish of her skirt.

"Jarrod Barkley," his mother reprimanded. "How many years has it been since I last told you not to sleep on the sofa?"

Jarrod chuckled. "I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking."

"That's what you used to tell me when you were a boy." She sat beside him. "And you know, but for this one time, I always believed you."

He smiled at her and was pleased to see, even after all she'd been through, his mother could still manage a smile of her own.

She turned to face him. "Heath is much better now that he has the medicine he needs. He can sleep."

"I'm thankful for that."

"Have you and Nick decided what you're going to do?"

"There's a federal marshal in town who might be inclined to help us. Tomorrow morning, we're going to Stockton to see if he'll accompany us to the Wilson place."

"That's good. I don't want you to go to the Wilson's without a lawman along to back you." She gazed at her clasped hands. "Do you think what Heath said about Nick has any merit?"

Jarrod thought a moment. He didn't want to worry his mother, but she was a strong woman, had always been. "We're not going to hear the full story from Heath for a while, and there's no way of knowing if he will recall anything about it when he recovers, but…you remember when the Wilsons brought the lawsuit to court."

"How can I forget it?" Mother said. "We could have lost our water rights to the entire south range."

"Yes, but…do you remember when Nick and Eli exchanged words outside the courthouse on the day of the verdict?"

"I remember, but I didn't think much of it at the time. Everyone's emotions were running high."

"I was standing near Eli and was one of the group of men who held them apart. They were about to go at each other like rattlesnakes."

"They almost fought right there on the courthouse steps."

"Right. But when we got them apart, Eli said to me that he would get Nick another day. I was inclined, like you, Mother, to set it aside as a heat of the moment remark, but I saw it in his eyes. They were cold. And for that one moment, he was more like animal than man. Mother, I've seen men in drunken rages, I've seen them in brawls, but Eli Wilson is of a kind that I've never encountered before. I don't know as I've ever seen evil, but I was close to it that day."

The crackling embers popped and glowed a brilliant orange. The effects of the liquor in his system slowly ebbed. Jarrod wasn't the type to drink to excess, but this night, in some small way, he wished he were.

"I've known the family for some time," Mother said. "I've seen the boys—both Eli and Willie Clay-throughout the years and for the life of me, I don't recall any moment that might stand out that would make Eli different from his peers. He was quiet, observant. His parents were poor, but never asked for handouts nor did they blame anyone for their ills. It does seem that when Eli came of age, our troubles with him started."

"Eli may have a vendetta against Nick, for one reason or another," Jarrod said. "But that doesn't make him any more dangerous than we already know him to be. He's on the run now. It may be that we have nothing to worry about, and all we have to do is find him, and haul him in."

"I have every confidence that you will," Mother said as she stood. "Take care of each other out there. I want my sons home and safe when all of this is over." She bent and kissed her son on the cheek. "Good night, Jarrod."

"Good night, Mother."

Jarrod stood as she left the room. The house was quiet except for the crackling embers. Everything the Barkleys ever cared for was right here in this house—family. For Jarod, that was all there ever could be. He knew that by going after Eli, both he and Nick were putting themselves at risk, but what wouldn't a brother do for a brother? Heath deserved justice. He looked up at the portrait of his father that hung over the mantel and he knew that they were doing the right thing.


	9. Chapter 9

Before dawn, Nick was dressed and ready to go to Stockton. No one else in the household was up yet, and he was sorely tempted to get Jarrod out of bed. But it was four o'clock, an hour before they had agreed to be up. Jarrod had ridden hard from Sacramento yesterday and needed every second of sleep he could get. So Nick didn't begrudge him what little time he had left.

He stepped quietly out of his room, hat in hand and gently shut his door. He moved stealthily past other rooms to check on Heath.

When he entered Heath's room, he found that someone had left a small lamp burning. Maybe it was so Heath would recognize his surroundings if he awoke. Since the medications arrived though, Heath had slept continuously, oblivious to everyone around him. Nick took the chair beside the bed, the same one in which his mother spent most of her time since Heath's injury, quietly tending him and reading her Bible. It was the darkness and the quiet that got to Nick. A dark cloud hung over him, and the pending day ahead, when he didn't know what would come, had him wanting to talk to his brother. He knew Heath couldn't hear him, but still he needed to speak his mind.

"I just want you to know. We'll take care of everything." Nick heard the awkwardness in his own voice, but in a round-about fashion, he would eventually find the words he wanted to say. "Jarrod and I are going out there to find the coward who did this to you, Heath, and one way or another, we're going to make sure he's punished. Seems a little too late, I know. But the other day, when I found you out there under that Sequoia, I just knew you were dead. In that one moment I realized what you really meant to me. I suppose it's natural to take family for granted, especially a brother who you tend to fight with more than anything else." Nick turned his hat in his hands. He studied the brim, not wanting to look up and see his brother so unresponsive. "When you first showed up at this ranch, and told us you were Tom Barkley's son, I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't let a stranger in, even if deep down I knew his story had some truth to it. I didn't want to think of my father as being anything less than perfect. You showed me a side of him I didn't want to see. I tell you that hurt more than anything. I couldn't accept you as a part of the family, let alone as my brother, and I did my damnedest to push you away. But you stood up for yourself when no one else could or would. It took guts, and even though I didn't admit it, I admired you for it. I'm going to stand up for you now, Heath, because, damn it all, you are my brother, and to be honest; I just can't imagine this family without you in it."

Nick's throat was tight. Stating his feelings, even though no one could hear him, left him open and vulnerable. That wasn't a good state for a self-proclaimed 'vigilante' to be in. He got up to leave.

"Boy howdy, Nick," Heath murmured. His eyes partially opened. "You sure do make long speeches."

Nick whirled, and his laugh was loud and instantaneous. "Heath!" But when he noticed the grimace on his wounded brother's face, he settled down, but his heart raced like a rabbit's. "You know me?"

"'Course I do," Heath said, sounding and looking a little annoyed.

Nick pushed the chair closer to the bed and sat. "You uh, feeling okay?" He waved his hand at the stupid question. "Naw forget that. Do you need anything? Water or—"

"I need for Nick to settle down." One corner of Heath's mouth twitched up, but he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open. "How can a fellow get some rest around here... with all the commotion?"

Nick gave a short laugh. "It's good to hear your voice, Heath. Damned good to have you back."

"Eli's trouble Nick." Heath said without preamble, and he seemed to fall asleep between sentences. "We have to put him down. I would help you, but—"

"Let me handle Eli—"

"It's not just him." Heath interrupted. "He has friends."

Nick leaned forward. "Who?"

"Not sure. I didn't get a good look at them. All I know is…they thought they shot you."

"I don't see how they could mistake you for me. Even from a distance." He gave a laugh. "I always wear the black hat."

"It's not funny, Nick." Heath said. "They wanted to kill you."

"Well, you know what I have to say about that?" Nick replied, his anger rising. "They _should_ have killed me that day, because they're going to live to regret their mistake. How many of them were there?"

"Three, I think."

"Did you recognize any of them?"

"I don't know. Maybe…I-I can't see them anymore. "

"But Eli was there," Nick prompted.

"He was…he was the most upset."

"No he wasn't." Nick gave a wry laugh. "Not by a long shot."

"Nick," Heath gripped his arm. "Don't go getting yourself killed because of me."

"Heath, how many times do I have to tell you? Just because you didn't grow up in this house, doesn't make you any less my brother. Wouldn't you do the same for me?"

Heath nodded slightly. "'Course I would."

"Don't forget that. Besides, I have to take care of the best post hole digger this ranch has ever seen."

"When I'm better, I'll whup you for that."

Nick cracked a smile. "Now as to that, brother, I just don't know."

* * *

><p>Victoria wanted to see her sons off and got up at five to have breakfast with them. Nick however hadn't shown up at the table. It wasn't like him, and she went to see if he was alright. She was relieved when she saw him briskly descending the staircase. She couldn't miss his smile.<p>

"Good morning, Mother." Nick kissed her when he met her at the bottom of the stairs and gave her a generous hug, swinging her in a complete circle.

"My, you're cheerful this morning," she said when he released her.

"Heath wanted me to tell you he's hungry." Nick laughed. "He's better, Mother. We even had a long talk."

Victoria brightened. "Oh, that's wonderful, Nick. I'll go up in a few minutes." She took him by the arm and guided him to the dining room. "Jarrod has already finished breakfast, and was wondering if you'd forgotten about going to Stockton this morning."

"Don't tell me he left without me."

"Oh, no. He'd just outside getting the horses ready."

When they entered the dining room, Silas was just clearing the used place settings.

"Silas," she said, "Heath is hungry this morning. Could you please prepare some broth for him?"

Silas grinned. "For Mr. Heath? I will be happy too, Mrs. Barkley."

"Thank you, Silas."

Silas nodded and went into the kitchen.

Nick piled eggs and bacon on his plate and took a sip of his coffee. "Silas!" he shouted. "You make the best damned coffee in California!"

Victoria winced, but didn't reprimand her son for this outburst. She shared his joy and was pleased he was able to express his so readily. She sat at her place at the table and watched as Nick shoveled eggs into his mouth. "Slow down, Nick. Jarrod will wait for you."

Nick caught himself. He quickly chewed and swallowed. "I'm sorry Mother. I guess I'm carried away."

"I understand, but manners should always be observed at the table."

She didn't have much time with Nick this morning, but she wanted to be sure he did slow down and think things through. It would be a trying day for him. She sipped her own coffee and silently agreed with Nick's assessment of it.

"Nick," she said as she put the cup down. "I need to know that you will be careful out there. I don't know what happened the last time you went to town, but judging by the looks of you, I'd be willing to bet it was a hot-tempered decision that got you those bruises and the nasty cut under your eye."

Nick suspended a forkful of eggs over his plate. "It _was_ a hotheaded decision, but it takes two to brawl. The other fellow was just as willing to fight it out as I was."

"I believe that," she said. "But do you think a little restraint might have saved you the hurt?"

"Yes." He shoved the eggs into his mouth.

"Well?"

He swallowed. "Well, I have Jarrod with me now. He'll make sure that I have a level-headed fight next time." He smiled and gave her a wink. "Don't worry, Mother. We'll have a lawman with us. And he's a fine upstanding citizen at that."

Victoria didn't quite understand the sarcasm in his tone when he spoke of the lawman, but she didn't ask.

Nick continued, "I'm certain that between the three of us, we can bring Eli in without incident."

Victoria felt a little better, though the worry would never completely leave her when it came to Nick. Her son had a big heart and carried hit on his sleeve. His father had given him that trait, and it was that trait that got her husband in the worst of trouble. "Be careful, Nick. I don't want to lose you."

Finished with his plate, Nick got up and moved to the chair next to her. He clasped his hands together on the table and leaned in close. "Mother," he said quietly. "Did you give Jarrod the same lecture you just gave me?"

"Not the same lecture."

"Oh?" Nick said, "And how was his different?"

Her son's hair had fallen into his eyes, and she gently pushed it back. "I told him to look after you."

"I don't need an angel on my shoulder when I've got you." He kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be fine. You think I'd let something happen to me when I've got this ranch to run? Nope. I'll be back. Trust me."

He got up, and she walked with him as far as the door. As he walked away, she remembered the last time her husband Tom left the house. It was on a day much like this one, and on an errand much like this one. "Be safe," she whispered and closed the door.


	10. Chapter 10

A cold front had blown in overnight and the crisp, cool weather had Nick feeling pretty good-considering the day that lay ahead was fraught with unseen obstacles. He felt like a lion and was ready to pounce on them all. He relished the thought of finding that Eli Wilson and schooling him on the subject of Barkley vengeance. The rhythmic cadence of the horse's hooves put him in a martial type mood. He felt a smile come on and started to whistle "When Johnny Comes Marching Home."

He only got a few notes out when he noticed Jarrod's sidelong glance.

"I guess it's the change in the weather." He shrugged and took in a deep breath of cool fall air.

Jarrod didn't seem to share Nick's upbeat attitude. He watched the road as they neared town. "Your talk with Heath this morning seems to have taken a load off your shoulders."

"Well, brother, I tell you it has."

"I wish I'd had an opportunity to talk to him. Those other men he told you about, the ones who were with Eli…it would help me put the pieces together if I knew a little more about them." Jarrod frowned. "What I remember of Eli before I met him in court last year is vague, but he didn't seem to have any particular friends at that time. Was Heath able to describe those men at all?"

Now Nick's mood shifted. "No. He couldn't remember. Couldn't even tell me how many there were. We could be looking for two, three, maybe four men. Not good odds for just the two of us."

"We have that marshal—Ray Collins. If what Bill Lender's says about him is true, he'll help us. Of course we'll have to sweeten the deal a bit."

Nick didn't much like putting money into Collin's pocket and wasn't so keen on trusting him in the first place. "Don't be so sure of that, Jarrod. You haven't met him."

"And you have?" Jarrod asked.

Nick hedged a bit on the answer. "Let's just say, once he lays eyes on me, he may not be so obliging to help us out."

Jarrod gazed at his brother in confusion but then his eyes widened in understanding. He turned back to the road with the outer buildings of Stockton coming into view. "Well, Nick, from what I've heard about Marshal Collins, if you held your own against him in that fight-"

"What do you mean, 'if'?"

Jarrod smiled at Nick's angry glare. "All I'm saying is if you held your own against him you likely earned his respect. He's a ranger, Nick. In his world, that carries a lot of weight."

"Damned right I did," Nick replied. He sulked. He didn't want to mention that Collins had earned some of his respect, too. Not all of it, Nick reminded himself, just some.

* * *

><p>When they arrived in Stockton, Jarrod wanted to stop at the gunsmith to pick up a six shooter he'd left for repair. It was a reliable weapon and he wouldn't think of going on this excursion without it. He dismounted and tied off his horse. "I'll be right back," he told Nick, but when he stepped up to the walkway, he nearly ran into Sheriff Madden.<p>

"Morning, Sheriff," Jarrod said, fully expecting a traditional response in return.

Madden ignored him and walked right on past. His eyes were pinned on Nick. "You just stay up in that saddle now, Nick," he ordered. "I told you to stay out of town and I meant it. We don't need any more of your trouble around here."

Nick narrowed his eyes at the sheriff. He deeply resented the attitude. Used to, he could ride into town unnoticed; now it seemed Sheriff Madden had put him at the top of his most wanted list. "What laws have I broken, Sheriff?" Nick leaned forward and casually crossed his arms over his saddle horn. "Is it a crime for a Barkley to ride through Stockton nowadays?"

"I heard about your fight. I can see the evidence of it on your face clear as day." Madden propped his fists on his hips. "I told you in no uncertain terms to leave town until things cooled off. Since you didn't follow the law last time, I'm of a mind to haul you in."

Jarrod stepped between them. "Now just a minute, Sheriff. Do you plan to arrest my brother? If so, what's the charge?"

"Destruction of property, for one. Manager at Barbary Red's came to me about pressing charges for busting up his place yesterday."

"Did he follow through on those charges?"

"No." Madden still glared at Nick. He spit a wad of tobacco into the street. "I took an oath to look out for the safety of this town. Your brother is a threat to the peaceful exchange of commerce in the community."

Nick jerked upright. "What? !"

Jarrod raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Now, Sheriff, don't you think that's a little far-fetched?" He turned to Nick. "Take the horses to the livery, Nick. I'll talk to the Sheriff." Jarrod saw the hardened look on Nick's face. The last thing he needed was for Nick to prove Madden right. "Now," he insisted and handed the reigns over to his brother. He waited for Nick's reluctant nudge to Coco's flanks and turned back to face Sheriff Madden.

Jarrod companionably clapped Madden on the shoulder and turned him to walk in the opposite direction. All those years in courtrooms had groomed him for this moment. "Now, about my brother…"

* * *

><p>Nick rode off slowly, willing his body to follow Jarrod's order when all of his instincts had him wanting to lay into that no-good public official who the town of Stockton called "Sheriff." Tension knotted his muscles. Nick shook his head vigorously and blew out a breath. He rolled his shoulders. "This town has gone completely loco."<p>

He rode up to the livery, and dismounting, he tied off Jarrod's horse first. When he got back to Coco, he patted the horse on his glossy neck. "A threat to commerce," he muttered. "What do you think of that, huh?"

The horse snorted.

"Yep." Nick nodded. "That's just what I thought."

He moved to tie off Coco's reigns.

There came an unmistakable tick of metal against metal next to his right ear. Nick froze. Through the corner of his eye he saw a brash glint of sunlight on the end of a pistol barrel—aimed directly at his skull. Options flashed through his mind. His gun in his hip holster. His rifle in the saddle holster. His knife in his vest pocket. None of which was accessible with a bullet at his ear poised to blow his brains out. He slowly raised his hands.

"Move," a brusque voice ordered.

The thug behind him grabbed a fistful of Nick's vest and jerked. Nick obeyed by stepping backward with the command. As the stranger forced him into the darkness between the livery and blacksmith's, he thought about Jarrod and how far away his older brother might be from this alleyway.

* * *

><p>"Now, Sheriff," Jarrod was saying to Madden since that they had stopped to talk in front of the General Store. "Nick has a right-as do I-to see that the law is upheld. Yes, it's a delicate issue, and I'm sure you understand that this case is intensely personal to the Barkley family."<p>

"Jarrod, it's personal to a lot of people in this town. It's even personal to me. I know Heath and have come to like and respect him as much as anyone in your family. That's why it's doubly important that I regard this trial with the utmost care. I can't have anything upsetting the due course of Willie Clay's legal rights. Nick has a look about him-and I completely understand it, mind you—that tells me he's out for revenge."

Jarrod couldn't argue that. Any sensible man would get that idea from Nick lately. The black eye hadn't helped his case at all. "We're in town for business, Sheriff. I will make sure that Nick respects the law and does nothing to impede the progress of this case. Of course, I will be handling the affairs of the family regarding this trial, and intend to perform my own investigation."

The implication Jarrod hoped to convey was that Nick would be aiding him in said investigation. Jarrod eyed the sheriff for any signs of disagreement.

"You just make sure he follows the law," Madden warned. "To the letter."

Jarrod nodded once. "Naturally."

Madden humphed, tugged the brim of his hat down a notch, and stormed off.

Sympathy for Madden had Jarrod wishing he hadn't crossed the sheriff's path this early in the morning, but he got the law off Nick's back for the time being. Jarrod glanced down the street and wondered where his brother had gone off to. Nick should have caught up with him by now.

When he looked down the street, a strange sight caught his attention. Carriages and pedestrians were steering clear of a riderless horse that wandered the street. _Coco. _Nick's horse was loose and the reins dragged the ground. Jarrod frowned. Never in a million years would Nick tie a knot that didn't stay put. An ominous feeling came over him. Jarrod quickly headed to his own mount tied at the livery.

* * *

><p>Nick's assailant shoved him against the brick wall of the smith's. "Turn around," he ordered. He must have seen a thought flash in Nick's eyes. "You so much as flinch and I'll pump you full of holes so fast you'll be dead before you hit the ground."<p>

Keeping his hands up, Nick turned—then he snarled. "I should have known."

It was Frank, and his mustache twitched in agitation. The beady eyes, both of which had varying shades of purple bruises beneath them, glared holes into Nick. The pistol lowered a bit, but Frank's deadly aim didn't waver. The gun was now leveled at Nick's chest. It was still a kill shot if he pulled the trigger. "You shouldn't a come back here, Barkley. You're messing things up for me, and I don't take kindly to that."

There came another click. This time, it was Jarrod's rifle that pressed into Frank's back.

"Drop your weapon," Jarrod ordered. "Or so help me, you'll find a bullet in your back."

Hands still raised, Nick casually lifted one eyebrow and cocked a smile at Frank. "I'd do as the man says. He's well-known for following-through."

Frank reluctantly tossed the pistol to the ground. When he turned his head to see who bested him, Nick fisted his hands, and taking advantage of the three-quarter view, he planted a solid right hook into Frank's jaw. The man dropped like a cord of wood.

"You still owe me a drink," Nick growled through his teeth. "Who are you really? Frank or Ray Collins or—"

Frank rolled onto his backside, rubbing his injured jaw. "You just assaulted a federal marshal—_again._ I was willin' to let the first one by."

"If you're a federal marshal, where's your badge?" Jarrod asked, still holding the rifle on the man at his feet.

"I don't carry my badge, friend," said Frank. "Guess you'll have to either shoot me, or take my word for it."

Jarrod lowered his rifle only slightly. "I'll do neither. As long as you understand your position, we can talk."

"I prefer talkin' man to man," Frank said, lifting a hand to indicate his distaste for lying in the dirt. "You gonna let me get up, or—"

"I don't know," Nick said. "The ground looks like a fine place for a snake to be."

"Snakes strike best from the ground."

"We'll just see about that."

Nick took a step toward Frank who tensed and grabbed a fistful of dirt.

Jarrod preferring not to fire his rifle and draw the attention of townsfolk, or the law, threw out a hand to stop his brother. "Back off Nick," he warned.

Nick glared. "Why? He's nothing but a—"

"U.S. Marshal. Let's hear what he has to say."

"Of all the—" Nick said. "Jarrod, you're stepping on shaky ground here."

Frank got himself up out of the dirt and dusted his pants. "You're interfering in a federal investigation," he said to Jarrod. "I was tryin' to tell that to your brother here before you came along."

"At gunpoint?" Jarrod said. "Is that what you consider to be a 'man to man' talk?"

"I've been workin' this case for over a month and him come bellowing at the top of his lungs about Eli Wilson down at Red's just about killed everything I've worked for." He glared at Nick. "Those boys aint comin' back to that place and after all the time I spent working my way in and gaining their confidence. If I lose them, I swear to God, I'll come after you. I don't care if you're a Barkley or a Smith or a Jones."

Jarrod glanced at Nick. Nick shrugged and rubbed his sore knuckles.

"You're talking about Wilson's gang?" Nick asked.

Frank's eyes shifted from one Barkley to the other. "I'll get answers from you first." He bent down and picked up the gun he'd tossed, and seeing that Jarrod didn't move to stop him, he slipped it quickly into its holster. "How do you know who I am?"

"So you are Ray Collins, then." Nick said.

Jarrod spoke up. "We have a mutual friend who spoke quite highly of you. He said you might be needing some monetary backing. My brother and I might be able to help in that area."

"I've heard about you Barkleys. Money aint gonna buy you outta this as easily as you might think. I know what Eli and his gang have purportedly done to your family, but you don't know what you're gettin' into with them. This situation we got here is kinda like one of them icebergs. You know—it's bigger than it appears." Ray Collins rubbed his jaw and glanced around. "This alley aint the place to hash out any kind of business deal anyway. I got a cabin down on Sugar Creek. Aint much, but it's out of the way. If you're serious about what you say, meet me there around noon. We'll hash it out then."

He glared once more at Nick and stalked out of the alleyway.

"I know that cabin he's talking about," Jarrod said. "It's an old hunting cabin. Roof's falling in. Hasn't been used in years."

"I know the place." The brothers were silent for a moment before Nick spoke up again. "We ride out to Sugar Creek, we could be riding straight into an ambush. I don't like this one bit."

Jarrod agreed. "Neither do I, Nick. But as I see it, we don't have much choice."

"Oh, but we do have a choice," Nick said. "We could get some of the men together from the ranch. I've heard them talking about wanting to go after the people who shot Heath. It'd be easy enough to get them to come along."

"And have their families suffer the way ours has if one of them gets killed?" Jarrod shook his head. "I won't be a part of that. No, as far as I see it. Hiring a man like Collins, a professional with no ties to the Barkley ranch is the best course." He saw Nick's trepidation and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "At least, we can hear what he has to say, and we can find out more about this gang Eli's running with. Regardless, it seems that Ray Collins has something valuable to offer us, whether we hire him or not."

"I hope you're right," Nick said.


	11. Chapter 11

Nick fished Sugar Creek many times. The cold, sparkling water was a goldmine for trout. That alone was a real draw, but what kept him coming back was the peace of mind this place afforded him—the sense of aloneness he craved so much after a long cattle drive or a high-stakes auction. He could really kick back here in this cathedral of oak and pine and let go a while before getting back to the grind of working the everyday on the ranch.

This half-baked meeting with Marshal Ray Collins-or was it Frank?—tainted his perfect memories of this place. It would be a crying shame if-after all was said and done-he couldn't come back here and relax like he should. He ticked off another tally mark on the growing debt Collins owed him since the fight at Barbary Red's.

The marshal was running up quite a tab.

The path Nick took along the creek was the same that he'd ridden before, only this time, he wasn't watching for the speckled glitter of trout swimming through the running water. If the water was beside him, he hardly noticed. The ridge above and the deep brush that hid it kept his attention. There was no way in hell he'd see a man lying in wait up there. Keenly aware of his position, his nerves were drawn tight as bowstrings. Anyone could have a rifle sited on him and he would never know it. Jarrod was up there somewhere. Who in hell thought this was ever a good idea to ride in separate like this? For the life of him, he couldn't remember, nor did he really care. He just wanted to grab back some of that elusive peace of mind he'd lost since agreeing to meet with Collins.

The trail along the ridge, carved a millenia ago by the water itself, mimicked the creek almost exactly. Up there was a footpath cut by wildlife on their way to and from the water's edge. Men also used this trail, but rarely on horseback, so naturally, Jarrod would have a tough time going. Low branches and rotted logs would keep his mount occupied for a good while, but still, Nick didn't like not knowing exactly where his brother was. Didn't set well with his need to know every contingency.

He already had one brother to worry about, no need to add another.

An outcropping of boulders that jutted into the creek dissected the path, and the only way to go forward was to go around. Coco plunged into the icy creek up past his knees. Nick's boots went into the water and immediately started to leak, his socks wicking up the icy liquid. The safety of the bank was only a few feet away. If he could get Coco to move, maybe Nick could save something of the only pair of boots he had with him. Muttering a curse, he dug his spurs in."Get on up there."

The horse responded and clamored up the muddy bank, but his boots were shot. It'd take at least a day and a half under the best conditions by the fireplace with a blazing fire to get them to dry out. Out here, he wouldn't have the luxury of drinking a brandy and listening to the crackling fire with his feet propped up on the stone hearth while they dried, a plate of Silas' biscuits beside him.

Bah. What was he complaining about? Wet boots never stopped him from doing anything. Must be the idea of going into a place where he might find at any moment, the Barkley's had been set up.

And there it was, nestled into a crook beneath the ridge, the meeting place, and boy was it a sight, the old cabin that Collin's had so casually called 'his'.Black, weathered, and devoured in moss, it looked more like a malignant growth that needed to be excised than a hunting lodge in the woods. Even Coco balked at the sight of it. He jerked his head to and fro and started to turn back.

Nick pressed his legs into the animal's sides and jerked the reins tight. "Get on you ol' coward," he said. "At least, you don't have to go _in_ the damned place."

Nick wasn't going inside either. One push of the rotted door and the whole cabin would cave. The roof was bowed like the back of an old saddle horse. The only structurally sound portion was the chimney. Might be a good idea to come back here sometime and salvage some of the stone.

As he rode closer and urged Coco to cooperate, Nick settled into looking the place over. He peered into the windows, square holes about as small as saddlebags, and saw nothing but dark and cobwebs. Leaf debris and pine needles blanketed the ground surrounding the cabin and in not one spot was the covering disturbed by man or animal. No one had visited this cabin in months. But then, why would anyone come here unless they were meeting a marshal named Collins? Which brought Nick back to his main question. Why again had he and Jarrod decided to fall for this crazy idea? Oh, right. Because Ray Collins came highly recommended.

Where the hell was Jarrod anyway?

The trail head shouldn't be too hard to find. There were a few points of entry that Nick had used before on up the creek a ways. He could go up there and look for Jarrod, but then that would maybe get Nick in a bind, too. He'd wait for a quarter hour. If Jarrod didn't show up by then, he'd go looking for him.

He dismounted and let Coco quench his thirst in the creek. Nick paced, not knowing what else to do, and drummed his fingers against his sidearm. He was beginning to think neither Collins or Jarrod would show up at all when he heard the voices.

Natural instinct had his hand at his holster, but Nick recognized Jarrod's laugh and figured there was no danger to be had. He walked toward the sound and Jarrod rode out of the brush with Collins and another fellow close behind.

Jarrod tipped his head and he shot an incredulous look at Collins. "You have to be joking."

"Naw,"Collins replied. He held up a thumb and forefinger. "That girl was this close to marrying me, but her daddy wouldn't have it. He told me I would either take a train, or a bullet to the brain. I was seventeen at the time and figured I had a lot of livin to to yet. Anyways that's how I come to end up in Texas."

Jarrod noticed Nick standing there and said, "Nick. I met Ray up on the ridge and this," he gestured with his thumb, "is Deputy Marshal Jake Randall."

The young man wearing a leather fringed jacket was about twenty-four years of age. Nick hoped the deputy's boyish features belied true experience in the field. If not, he'd be a liability on any attempt to haul Eli Wilson in.

Randall tipped his slouch hat up a notch and nodded a greeting to Nick. "Mr. Barkley. Heard a lot about you, sir," he said. "It's a rare man who can take on the marshal and live to tell."

"Right,"said Nick. The smile he returned wasn't in greeting. It was born from the thought of how much satisfaction he would get when the chance came to knock that perpetual smirk off Collins' face once and for all. Now wasn't the moment, of course, but soon the time would come.

"Randall, gather up some firewood," ordered Collins. "I need me some coffee." He swung down from the saddle.

"Yessir,"said Randall, and the youth rode off.

* * *

><p>Well, Nick didn't think he'd ever admit it, even to himself, but a campfire, food, and a little whiskey can make any meeting downright perfect. He laid his boots on dry ground by the fire and hung his socks up on branches to dry while they all sat down and cooked up a right fine meal. Jarrod had brought some of those buscuits Nick had been craving and some seasoned steak strips, that along with a bit of stew ol' Collins brought along and it was the best damned camp meal Nick had eaten in a long time.<p>

Collins tapped his shoulder with the whiskey bottle in offering. Nick took it, uncapped it and poured some into a tin cup. He passed the bottle to Jarrod who did the same. Did wonders for Nick's mood. He hadn't felt this relaxed since the incident with Heath. The way he figured it now, this Ray Collins was alright. He had plenty of shortcomings, but didn't they all?

Collins was sitting, ankles crossed, and twisting that terrible mustache in thought.

"Ray,"Nick said. "Ever think about seeing a barber about that atrosity?"

He feigned indignity. "Naw. Then my ex might approve of me."

Nick lifted a brow and nodded. "Makes sense."

"I hate to bust up the mood," Jarrod said. He lifted the tin cup. "But we need to get down to business." He tossed back the rest of the whiskey and set the cup on the ground.

"I been thinkin' about that business for a while now," said Collins. "Been thinkin' on how much you boys really need to be involved."

"They shot our brother. We're already involved," Nick said. "It'll be a cold day in hell when we back out. Right, Jarrod?"

"Nick's right. It's a family issue. Our only goal is to bring Eli Wilson to justice."

"You're a lawyer," said Collins. "You'd want an arraignment, a trial by his peers and all that."

"Our father died at the hands of people who claimed to take the law into their own hands." Jarrod frowned. "Revenge leaves loose ends-families who suffer from the not knowing why or how it happened. My brother and I won't settle this in any other way but by the law."

"But you chose to come to me rather than your own good sheriff. Why do you suppose you did that?" Collins said. "You must have heard about my methods. I don't always go by the book. I get my man or die tryin'." He held out his hands. "As you can see, I always get my man. What I don't guarantee is the shape he's in when I get him."

When Jarrod didn't respond right off, Nick supplied his own thoughts on the matter."I'm with my brother here. We're only after what's right for our family. Our half-brother Heath hasn't been with us for that long. He's lived hard most of his life. Never had much. He's not used to having a strong family that will back him up when he needs it. We'd do anything for him. Even if it means hiring a man who spends most of his time on the shady side of the law."

Collins smirked again, but this time it was more sardonic than amused. "I get your meanin' Nick, but I aint for hire, and I don't much care to have you folks comin' down from the mansion and gettin' your clothes dirty and more importantly, gettin' in my way."

Collins shot a quick glance to his deputy and raised a brow. "Well, you got an opinion or are you just gonna sit there and get sauced?"

Jake Randall, who sat on an old tree stump and had been quietly observing everything, watched Collins through casual brown eyes as he sipped from his tin cup. When he finally put the cup down, he said, "We need ammunition. Might do well with a couple a new shotguns to spray the bastards with, sparing Eli Wilson the humiliation of buck shot in his ass if we can." He winked at Jarrod."I think we can use the help and probably spare the sorry life of that Wilson for your trial." He pulled a pouch of tobacco out of his coat pocket. "He's not the one we want anyway."

"He's not?" asked Nick.

"Nope." Randall set to rolling a cigarette.

"Well, Ray, there appears to be much more to this story, as you indicated earlier,"said Jarrod. "You've got our complete attention. Spill it."

Randall handed the marshal the cigarette. Collins took it and lit it with a burning twig. He took a long draw and blew out smoke. "It all has to do with six hundred thousand dollars in freshly minted gold and the bandits that got away with it."


	12. Chapter 12

In those first few desperate hours after he'd been shot, Heath dreamed of his beautiful mother. He knew she was there with him, keeping him from dropping into the long dark sleep. He could see her soft smile so clearly that it took the edge off the pain. He spoke a few words to her that he remembered well and would never tell another soul.

"_I'm gonna die."_ Heath reached for her and longed to touch her golden hair, to feel her arms around him as when he was a boy. He begged for her to let him go, to gentle him to heaven so he could be with her again forever. _"Take me home, Mother. Please."_

_Not yet_, he heard her say. _The Lord has plans for you, son._

He remembered her face, her voice as if she stood before him in sunlight untouched by the violence that had torn into him. Everything else surrounding him was in darkness.

Heath's frustration grew as he began to remember bits and pieces of what happened out there on the ranch. The rifle shot, the men on horseback, the arguing. If he closed his eyes long enough, he might see more. He might see faces, something to help him understand the who and the why. The pain in his hip kept him nearly immobile. He couldn't help his brothers. He was useless to them. Nick and Jarrod were risking their lives for him and that was the worst pain of all.

Just when he thought he couldn't take the hurt anymore, he would hear Victoria's steady voice. Even though he hadn't responded-he was too blamed tired and sore to do much but breathe—she had stayed and she read to him. Her devotion to him, a son she never had to accept, was the most humbling, most comforting medicine he could ever receive. He didn't know if there were words enough in the universe to express how much she meant to him at this moment, but he had to try.

"Mother."The voice coming from him didn't sound like his own. He hesitated, not wanting to hear a weak man's voice, not wanting to believe any of this was real, but her.

She raised her chin and looked at him tentatively, as if she couldn't decide how she should feel. Was it doubt he saw in her regal face? He'd never seen uncertainty in her eyes before, so he wasn't sure how to read her. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her—to remove all doubt—but he didn't have that right. He had taken her sons away from her, just by being in her house.

She made a decision. Heath saw it come over her in the way she straightened and in the way she quickly folded and set the paper aside. She had put on her armor to keep from being hurt, but why?

"I'm here, son," she said.

Her cool hand covered his. She was real, she was alive, and Heath wanted so badly for Victoria Barkley to be as real a mother to him as his own mother Leah was. A man was only allowed one such woman in his lifetime. How he wanted to believe he had been such a good man, _such_ _a lucky man_, that God saw fit to give him two.

"Thank you," he said. Not good enough. These words weren't what he wanted to say. He took her hand into his—mindful that he had to take care of this delicate and refined creation— he held on tight. "I love you, Mother."

She drew in a ragged breath and her shoulders relaxed as if that was what she wanted to hear all along. "Heath."

She sniffled, and he felt better having given back something to this great lady, but it wasn't enough.

"I'm sorry for Nick bein' gone, and Jarrod."

Her voice grew stronger and moral indignation straightened her pose. "You didn't bring this on yourself, Heath. You were viciously attacked and left to die. The men who did this cannot go long without justice finding them and delivering to them a swift and righteous judgment. If Nick and Jarrod are to be the conduit for this justice, then so be it." She adjusted the covers over him. "Besides, they are coming back. They promised me they would, and they would never, _never_ break a only think about getting well. When your brothers get back they will want to see a stronger Heath. They wouldn't want to hear about you worrying so."

Heath could say nothing to that. He just closed his eyes.

"Do you want me to go now? Let you sleep?"

"No,"he said. "Your reading is easing my mind some. Could you continue?"

"Of course."

Heath closed his eyes once more and that seemed to be the end of their brief conversation.

Victoria didn't know she could possibly go on when all she wanted to do was weep. Perhaps when Heath was sick with fever he had been calling for Leah, his real mother and Victoria's heart had ached with the selfish wish that she might be the one he wanted. She had to remind herself in these past few days that he didn't have to return the love she gave him. It wouldn't be fair to expect such a thing, but oh how she longed for it. And now, though she never thought it possible, her love for Heath grew exponentially with his admission. Love this powerful might hold her together through the long days and nights until Jarrod and Nick returned safely.

She drew in a deep breath and taking the paper from the table where she'd placed it, she steadied herself. She touched her throat where it hurt the most and sighed. She couldn't give in to this weakness, for that's what it was. A woman's pain whether it came from happiness or sadness, must be kept in check, especially when her only option was to wait for events already set in motion to play themselves out.

She took the Sacramento paper with both hands and scanned it for news not so close to home for fear of worrying Heath about Willie Clay's trial. The local paper suggested Willie would be bonded out and allowed to go home before the trial next month. Victoria was glad Nick hadn't read the news before he left this morning, but by now he likely knew about it.

Victoria continued with the article in which she had left off.

"A local man by the name of Jerem Foster was shot dead yesterday in a robbery attempt at the First National Bank of Sacramento. After attempting to escape with a near three thousand dollars, he was shot dead by a local lawman. Foster was known for running with the MacMasters gang, led by the elusive Hiram MacMasters. Bank manager Arthur Currington stated that—"

"Mother, tell me the name again," Heath said. His eyes were wide and alert. "You've got to—" He tried to sit up and was immediately caught up in a vice-grip of pain.

Victoria got up and braced him, tried to ease him back, but he flung his arm out to stop her. "Why didn't I know it before?" He turned away from her. "MacMasters. It was him."

"Hiram MacMasters?" she asked. "It was him that shot you, Heath? Is that what you're saying? Tell me!"

"I don't know if it was him that shot me." Heath lamented. "But I know he was there. And I know now that was the gang Eli was runnin' with." He bit his lip and groaned."They wanted Nick because they thought he would bring a ransom and because that damned Eli was bent on revenge. Because I was the bastard son, they left me there."

"Heath, no." Victoria held his arms, though luckily he'd lost most of his fight. "If you keep this up, you'll open your wound. I'm not about to stitch you up again, you hear me?"

"Mother."Audra rushed into the room. "What's the matter? Heath?"

"He's alright, Audra." Victoria said. "Fetch some brandy from Nick's room. Hurry."

She focused on Heath again. "Listen to me and listen good. There is nothing you can do for Nick or Jarrod in your current state. It's a fact, and nothing you do will change matters at all. What's done is done. If you try to twist your way out of this bed, you'll do nothing but injure yourself more and maybe cause an infection. That I will not abide, do you hear me Heath? Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Breathing heavily, Heath looked at her, the wildness faded from his eyes, but she'd never seen him so devastated and lost. "Mother…they're 's what they do. We've got to warn Jarrod and Nick. Somehow…"

He was calmer now. She let him go and sat thankfully in the chair again. "Damn all newspapers," she ruefully remarked. "Burn every one."

She finally regained her composure. "Where there's a will, there's a way. We'll get a message to the Sheriff." She couldn't think of any better messenger than herself, but she spared Heath that interesting bit of news.


	13. Chapter 13

As the men sat around the campfire, bellies full from a combination of stew, biscuits and whiskey, Collins began the story of the stolen gold.

"Back in '66, the U.S. treasury department put a large shipment of gold westbound on the Union Pacific. The money was headed for Montana territory. Some of it was to go to the troops stationed there to help them maintain their foothold in Lakota land. Some was to go toward white settlement of the territory, but most of the money was provided by private sponsors as a way to secure the land for future prospecting. To shorten the tale, it all added up to a very large sum."

"Six hundred thousand isn't small change," Nick said. "But I've never heard of anything close to this amount being stolen outright." He looked to Jarrod for affirmation. Maybe he'd heard something of this fantastic robbery when he was in San Francisco. Nick could tell by the interest in his brother's eyes that he was familiar with what Collins was saying. "Jarrod?"

Jarrod directed his answer to Collins. "I'd heard of some gold stolen in a train robbery, but the amount taken was only about thirty thousand, or so that was the story."

"The amount stolen was toned down in the papers," Collins said. "The country was still recoverin' from the war. The news of such a large amount being lost wouldn't set too well with citizens who would be up in arms sayin' that the money should have been directed to reconstruction to get the South back on her feet again."

"But the money wasn't the most sensational aspect of the robbery, was it?" Jarrod said. "The brutality of it...that was the real story. Twenty-three passengers were massacred that day. Men, women, children...burned to death inside a locked passenger car. It was said that Texas Rangers eventually tracked most of the murderers and killed them. But they never found the money."

"Yeah, the money." Collins drew on his cigarette. "Some was recovered. About 100,000 of it. There's only one fella who knows where the rest is at and his name is Hiram MacMasters."

"MacMasters," Nick said. "The MacMasters gang. So they're the ones who burned the train car. Now I'm starting to remember. How in God's name does MacMasters fit into our situation? Unless you're trying to say that Eli Wilson is somehow connected to them."

Collin's grunted. "Wilson is a small player. He fell in with some of MacMasters' younger and rowdier men. Them that MacMasters couldn't control as well as the more seasoned men who died as a result of the robbery. He got too desperate to fill the lost ranks. That was where MacMasters went wrong. He should a' stopped that bunch before they got those ideas of theirs and went rogue on him."

"What ideas?"

"Well, from what I gathered in talkin' to two of those men, they fell into a scheme ol' Eli cooked up. Sounded good to them."

"And the scheme was?" Jarrod prompted.

"MacMasters wasn't sharin' the loot from that robbery with the new men. He kept it hidden. They were desperate for money, to live high. Eli wanted him some revenge on one a you Barkley's. The scheme was a kidnap and ransom. Guess they figured they would live high on the hog, like their ol' boss if everything went the way they wanted."

"I'll be a-" Nick began. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And you _knew _about this?"

Collin's raised his palms to preempt Nick's outrage. "Only after the fact. They was layin' low at Red's after Eli's half-wit brother confessed to the shooting."

"Why doesn't Sheriff Madden know what's going on in his own town?" Nick lamented. "Whatever happened to straight-up law and order?"

"He knows. He's playin' his part. We're all after the big fish. Get MacMasters, you stop his whole outfit. We're nearly there. We know he's not far. Rumor was, MacMasters was with them when they shot your brother. I was about to get to the truth of the matter when you came into Barbary Red's shootin' off your mouth."

"You're this close to another beating, Collins." Nick held up his thumb and forefinger. "This close. You're lucky I've had whiskey in my system to mellow me out."

"I didn't pass you the bottle for your friendship, Nick."

"You son-of-a-"

Jarrod spoke up. "Seems as though my family has been pawns in a high-stakes game we didn't know we were playing. Our brother was severely injured and nearly died. This is not something we intend to take lightly and we're not going into this blindfolded. You know so much, tell us where we can find Eli right now."

"I'll do ya better. I'll take you straight to him."


	14. Chapter 14

Audra's energy was spent. She hadn't been able to stop her mother from going to Stockton. No tears or any other kind of protest could change her mother's mind. She said the business with Sheriff Madden couldn't wait. If she didn't get the news about that awful Hiram MacMasters to him as soon as possible, it could mean worse trouble for Jarrod and Nick who may not fully understand the nature of people they were up against. The men who shot Heath were hardened criminals. Worse than Eli alone.

After her mother left, the big house was so empty. Audra didn't know where to turn. Heath was too ill to take on her burdens. She couldn't talk to any of her friends because she couldn't leave the house. Some of them had promised to visit but they wouldn't arrive for at least a week because it was Mother's edict that Heath at least has a quiet house until then.

As if any of her friends would disturb him! They _would_ pamper him though-especially Janie Caldwell. Maybe that was what Mother wanted to avoid. Audra let out a sigh. Janie was an open book when it came to her feelings for Heath, but she was a good listener and often had good advice and sympathy for Audra's woes. What she wouldn't give for Janie's ear right now!

Sulking wouldn't solve anything though. With nowhere to go, Audra decided to at least sit with her brother and make sure he had everything he needed.

She entered the room quietly in case Heath was asleep. She found him awake and in a contemplative mood. He lay there with a bible next to him, his hand resting on top. His eyes went to her when she approached and a smile warmed his face.

"Mornin' Audra."

His voice sounded so strong that she was surprised. He'd been so distraught before when his memories of the shooting came flooding back, now he was calm. "Am I disturbing you?" she asked.

"No. I was just thinkin'," he said. "It's about all I can do...right now."

"Mother's going into town." Audra blurted. She sat down heavily in the chair beside the bed. "She wants to talk to the sheriff about that awful man Eli Wilson was running with."

"MacMasters."

Audra sucked in a breath and closed her eyes at the mention of his name. "He is the most vile man alive and the fact that it was he who-oh if I were a man, I'd...well," she dropped her shoulders. "I don't know what I'd do. The idea that he was on Barkley land- and that he-" She shuttered. "Oh Heath. I'm so grateful you're here and you're getting stronger." She blinked and swiped away a tear.

"You won't get rid of me that easily."

"Why would I ever want to?" Audra replied, not willing to make light of the matter. "I want you here and Nick and Jarrod and Mother... We all need to stop and rethink what matters most. Father would understand. He would keep us all together."

"Maybe," Heath ventured. "But then, wouldn't he be the first one to ride out...if someone from outside threatened his family?"

Audra shrugged and pulled a deck of playing cards out of the small drawer in the bedside table. She knew he was right, but it didn't matter. She was still angry and dealt with it by quickly shuffling the deck and slapping cards into four piles on the table.

Heath raised a brow. "Expecting company?"

"No. I'm going to play by myself," She started to deal the hand to her invisible partners. "I like poker. So I'll play all sides," she said, sounding more than hurt. "Since that's what Mother expects of me these days." She slapped down more cards.

"I'm sorry," Heath said. "I know why she's going to town, but I never wanted her to go. She does exactly what she sets her mind to."

"She's stubborn," they both said at once.

Audra giggled for the first time in days. "Oh Heath. These days have been so trying. I'm so happy you're getting better, but I wish everyone would just come home."

Heath tapped her arm. "_You're_ not leavin' are ya?"

"No," she said with a little smile. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

"That's just what I wanted to hear. Deal me in."

"Why Heath, you can't play."

"Course I can. I can hold 'em. But my mind might be a little fuddled still. I'll let you look at my hand to see if I'm playin' 'em right." He cracked a smile. "That is if you can do that and still let me win a time or two."

He was looking stronger. More color was in his complexion, and for once he looked a little bit content, even if he was doing it for her benefit.

"Alright. But only a few rounds." She gathered the cards. "It'll keep you from sleeping. Mother will probably kill me if she finds out."

"I want your company, Audra," he said. "For that, I promise I won't say a word."

Audra blushed and glanced down at the cards. It was nice to be wanted for something. "Be warned, I removed all the jokers. I don't think they're a bit funny." Audra shuffled the deck.

"I don't much like 'em myself to tell you the truth."

Heath's expression darkened. His mind was on Eli Wilson. Audra clutched the deck in both hands. "Do you think Nick and Jarrod are alright?"

"I do."

No hesitation. He didn't have to think about it. That made her a little more comfortable with the fact they were gone, but only a little. She started to deal the cards, placing Heath's in a small pile on the bed. She thought of her father in the grave alone under that great oak tree. She did not want to see him joined by anyone in her surviving family. Not for many, many years. She drew in a solemn breath. "I believe you."


	15. Chapter 15

Two hands of poker were enough for Heath. Audra pulled the cards out of her sleeping brother's hand and put the deck away. She felt his forehead and found that though he was more lucid, his fever was still quite high. Maybe she shouldn't have let him play cards. Maybe it had been too much for him and he'd only been doing it for her.

"Thank you, Heath," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. She straightened his covers and left him to his rest.

Stepping outside the bedroom, she lightly closed the door.

Oh how she wished she could go back to a day when she could go for a ride and feel the wind in her hair and taste a single carefree moment in the sun. So much was changing! She wanted Mother home. She wanted Nick to tease her again. She wanted Jarrod to tell her everything would be all right. She closed her eyes, leaned against the cool oak door, and prayed.

* * *

><p>As Nick shoved on his other boot and adjusted the damp sock that wrinkled under the arch of his foot, he kept a half an eye on Jarrod, who was over by the horses talking with that deputy Jake Randall. They stood in a dappled patch of sunlight which made it easy to see the minute changes in the young deputy's expression. A frown, a subtle nod, a short vocal affirmation, all the while, the boy kept his head slightly bowed and an ear turned to Jarrod.<p>

Pappy's gift was to be able to talk to any man he came across and at least get his ear for a while. It wasn't just the law practice that made him so diplomatic. He was born with it. That bewildering talent lay mostly beyond Nick's grasp. Nick was a hands-on kind of man, which was why most of the time he let his fists do the convincing.

So it was Jarrod who would make a deal with the lawmen and Nick who was left to deal with his boots that just didn't fit right since they had been soaked through and through. There was a final nod from Randall and Jarrod stepped back as the deputy mounted his horse. He turned the animal and galloped in the direction from which Nick arrived just about an hour or so ago.

"Watch it, boy!" Nick called out. "The creek gets mighty deep around that bend!"

He stood and maneuvered his foot, stamping a little to get the fit back when heard Jarrod approach.

"I'll have to get rid of these boots," he remarked. "A shame too. I got 'em last time I was in San Francisco. So, where's Randall headed off to?"

"I sent him back to town to get the shotguns he wanted."

"Mhm. And are we giving them horses too?"

"We can pick those up along the way."

"Think we're giving them enough, Pappy?" Nick said, not at all convinced they should give them anything.

"Could have cost a lot more, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Considering what we're up against," Jarrod said. "MacMasters and his gang are a wild bunch. Eli's in the midst of them. From what I remember of that train robbery," he shook his head, his frown deepening. "And seeing what they did to Heath-They're as cold blooded as they come. Capable of anything. The more firepower we have, the better. As for the horses, the fresher they are, the faster. Doddard has the best stables in the county. That's why we're stopping there on our way to Eli's place."

"Looks like you've got it all figured out then."

"Not everything." Jarrod clapped a hand on Nick's shoulder, held it there, his eyes intense. "Don't let your guard down out there, Nick. Not for a second. I promised Mother we'd both come home. Understand? Both of us. I intend to keep that promise."

"You carry the world on your shoulders, Pappy. Always have. I'll tell you the same as I told Mother. I'll be all right. We'll watch out for each other as always."

Jarrod nodded. "Good."

"Ho!" called Collins from atop his restless horse. "Let's get a move on! Wilson aint gonna sit and wait till we're good n' ready." He started off on the upstream trail.

Jarrod companionably clapped Nick's shoulder again and both went to mount their horses.

* * *

><p>As Victoria drove her carriage into Stockton, she felt for the loaded pistol at her side. She hadn't needed it on the journey here, but something told her to be weary now that she was in town.<p>

She had two goals to accomplish while she was here. One was to see the sheriff and the other was to visit Doctor Merar.

She pulled up in front of the sheriff's office where a thin man leaned a shoulder against the post, lighting a cigarette. His brown eyes flicked up when she stopped, and he gave her a scathing once-over. Victoria stiffened at the assessment and sent him a scathing look of her own.

She drew her chin up. "I'm looking for Sheriff Madden."

Though this man wore the badge of deputy, his long legs were dusty from trail-riding and his unshaven jaw bespoke of not having been to a barber in weeks. His black hair was long, wiry, and unkempt and with the brim of his hat pulled down so low, he looked as if he'd just come in from a horse-stealing. This was not the kind of man Victoria would expect the good sheriff to chose as a deputy. She decided to remain in the carriage.

When she didn't get an answer she asked again. "I must speak to the Sheriff right away. Can you tell me where he is?"

"He's on his way to Sacramento if you need to know. Got called out on urgent business."

"What business?" Victoria demanded. "He's needed right here. Right now. I have something very important to tell him about the day my son Heath was shot."

"Well, ma'am. I'm his sworn deputy. Surely you can tell me?"

She narrowed her eyes. Like hell she would do any such thing. "When will the Sheriff be back?"

"Don't rightly know," the man drawled. "It all depends on when his business is done."

The man smiled and cackled a laugh. Victoria's skin crawled as if she'd just stepped in the path of a snake. Instinct told her not to share any information with this "deputy".

"I'll call on him another day then." Without waiting for a response she whipped the team into a trot.

Victoria's heart raced. What was going on in this town? Even the people in the street looked different somehow. More strangers about, shady ones like that deputy.

* * *

><p>Dr. Merar was outside looking a mite worried himself when she rode up to see him. He stepped into the street and helped her alight from the carriage.<p>

"Dr. Merar, it's so wonderful to see a friendly face in this town."

The doctor smiled, but his eyes were watchful of their surroundings. "Come inside Mrs. Barkley, where we can talk."

Once they were inside the doctor closed the door and locked it.

"Tell me what's going on around here," Victoria asked. "You seem to know."

"Rumor has it that a bunch of outlaws are holed up somewhere not too far from town. From the looks of it, somethings going on right here in town too. Most folks are indoors and strangers are walking the streets."

"Does it have something to do with the MacMaster's gang?"

"MacMasters?" the doctor shook his head. "Don't know, but when the sheriff left, he took some deputies with him. He told me to stay in town in case I'm needed when all's said and done. Looks as though he's expecting a heap of trouble."

"Doctor, my sons are out there." Victoria said. "They've gone after the men who attacked Heath."

"Then my being here is doubly important," said Dr. Merar. "I'll come by and see Heath when I can." The doctor went to a cabinet and pulled down some packages. "Here, Mrs. Barkley. I made these packets for you. More pain medication for Heath and something to help with fever."

She took the packets from the doctor.

He placed his hands over hers. "Mrs. Barkley, I've known you a long time. I have a feeling that asking you to stay here for your own good would go unheeded. So I ask that when you go home, don't stop. Ride like the wind until you're safe at your door. You'll do that much, won't you?"

"You know me well, Doctor," she said. "I intend to do just that. Rest assured. Home is where I'll stay until this storm blows over."

They went out together and he helped her back into the carriage. "I'll send word," he said. "If I see your boys."

"Thank you, doctor."

She turned and urged her team on. Tears came now that she was alone. Anger, frustration, and hurt all manifested at once. "Hayah!" she yelled at the team, and thrashed them with the reins. The horses surged. She wouldn't stop. She would drive them until they couldn't take anymore, because she, Victoria Barkley, couldn't take anymore herself.


	16. Chapter 16

Author note: When last we left the Barkley's - Nick and Jarrod were riding out with Marshall Collins to go after Eli Wilson, but stopping for fresh horses on the way...

By the way, I love reviews, so consider commenting! Thanks.

* * *

><p>Shadows stretched over the landscape, lengthening into evening. Nick was beginning to worry that they'd meet up with Wilson and his gang without the advantage of daylight. The trees gradually thinned as they rode and he could see the opening ahead into the valley. Long rolling grasses through which was cut, like a deep scar, a single line of trail.<p>

The Doddard place was just over the next rise. He could see where the trail ended and a road began. A few horses dotted the fields ahead. Impatience gnawed at Nick. He wondered just how long it would take to saddle up with fresh horses and be on their way again. Right now the Marshall and his currently absent deputy seemed like heavy baggage.

Nick's eyes were drawn across the perfect blue sky to something that didn't seem quite right. A slight discoloration behind the steep ridge to the right. A smudge of brown seeping into the air. Smoke.

He galloped up to Jarrod who had been riding just ahead. "You see that?"

"I see it."

"Think the Doddards are burning off some land?" Nick asked, though he had a suspicion as to what Jarrod would say.

"No." Jarrod said, "Though we can't be sure until we see for ourselves."

"Could be nothin'," Collins piped up. "Could be trouble. I reckon with just the three of us, we can take on whatever we find up there." Collins placed a hand over the grip of the Colt at his side. "Stay loose. Don't bunch up." With those words, he rode ahead at a gallop.

Jarrod tugged down on the brim of his hat and the line of his mouth drew thin. He gave Nick one last look before he too started toward the Doddard place.

Nick started a pace just a length and a half behind, though he was soon beside his brother, his instincts not allowing him to leave Jarrod's side. Collins was ahead a good ways now and he and his mount presented a small figure in the valley kicking up a whirlwind of dust. The men then heard a faint "Y'haw!"

"Y'think the man could be suicidal?" Nick said.

"More likely just crazy."

The source of the blackening smoke came clear as they rounded the hill and neared the Doddardranch. The main house, the Doddard home, was on fire.

* * *

><p>Both brothers dismounted as soon as they reached the burning house and searched around the home for any sign of the Doddard family. Nick covered his nose and mouth with his handkerchief. "I'll go around to the left!" He shouted over the roar of the flames. Jarrod ran around the far side.<p>

Orange, angry flames shot out the windows and licked up the sides of the white clapboard house, forming black, charcoal scars.

The heat was so intense that Nick couldn't get close enough to peer into the house from this side. The place was an inferno. He worried for the family of five who lived within these walls and hoped they had escaped somehow.

Black smoke intensified when he rounded the back of the house. He coughed out the noxious gases and found Jarrod kneeling beside the prone body of a man. James Doddard.

Jarrod looked up, his face red from the heat. "Let's get him away from the flames!"

Nick grabbed the man's left arm near the shoulder and helped Jarrod get the man across the yard and midway to the barn. When he knelt down to see if Doddard was alive, he noticed the blood.

"He's been shot," Nick said.

Doddard was pale underneath the dirt and soot on his face.

Jarrod turned the man's face toward him. "Jim! Jim, where's your family? Jim!"

Jim's shaking hand clutched Jarrod's arm and his eyes came open. "Margaret...Janie..."

The house was impossible to enter now. If they were inside...

"Where are they?" Jarrod demanded, seeing that Jim was fading.

Jim's grip slackened. "I couldn't help them."

His eyes went to the barn and he reached toward it only able to grasp at the dirt with his clawing fingers.

Jarrod shot Nick a horrified look before getting to his feet and running for the barn. Nick stayed with Jim, "You're going to be all right, Jim. You'll be alrig-"

Jim's labored breathing stopped. A final breath escaped him and he was gone.

When Nick looked up toward the barn he saw his brother. He'd opened the barn door, but he hadn't gone inside. With one hand on the wall, Jarrod fell to one knee, his other hand clutching the back of his bowed head. Nick's blood ran cold.

"Horses are scattered," said a voice over Nick. It was Collins.

Nick glanced up. The sun was behind Collin's head. Nick squinted, couldn't register what Collin's was saying. "What?"

"We gotta hit those sons-of-b itches hard."

Nick stood, grabbed Collins by the collar and jerked him forward. The man smelled of sweat and smoke. "These people were our friends!" Nick's words were gruff, broken. Collins was the only man nearby that Nick could loose his fury on.

"I know." Collins said in a low voice, barely audible, but his eyes were burning with the same fury Nick felt. "Unless we stop them. It will happen again."


	17. Chapter 17

The flames devoured most of the modest home Jim Doddard and his family had lived in since they had settled in the Valley twelve years ago. What was left of the two-story house was a charred shell. The wreckage still belched caustic smoke; it still emitted heat that made searching through it impossible. Even with a full moon shedding its light over the scene, it was at last too dark to perform any kind of search of the debris. Night had fallen on this tragedy. Nothing, not even the murders of an entire God-fearing family could change the fact that life went on and the world still turned.

Nick sat exhausted on an old stool he found near the barn. He didn't know how he would go on after this, where he would go, what he would do, but going back to the relative safety of home didn't seem the right course when such men who would kill innocent people like the Doddards were on the rampage.

His horse-which had been the smartest critter around and had gotten the hell out of there hours ago as soon as Nick dismounted-had finally showed his face again and nudged impatiently at Nick's shoulder. Nick pushed back half-heartedly on the bridge of Coco's nose. "Not now," he grumbled.

Nick kept his back to the wagon where he and Jarrod had placed the bodies of Jim, his wife Margaret, 12-year-old Janie, and 9-year-old Michael. They'd found all of the family members but one. Nick glanced over at the house. The glowing mound of coals still crackled and pulsed as if it were a half-sated predator, waiting for its next kill.

Maybe Jeffery who was eighteen and Jim's eldest, had not been home after all, or maybe, blinded by rage, he'd gone after the murderers alone. No outcome Nick could think of was any good. If alive, the boy would have a hell of a lot to sort through. If he'd gone after them...

A queasy stomach had Nick dropping his head into his hands and taking deep breaths. It was the only way to settle his stomach and stop his hands from trembling.

He wondered when Collins, who had ridden on two hours ago to find the murderers' trail, would return. Jarrod had ridden to the nearest homestead in hopes of bringing back some neighbors who would help them find a decent way to deal with the bodies. Nick was alone, keeping guard, protecting the remains of their good friends. He had been too late to protect them from death, but maybe he could catch up with Eli Wilson and see the look in his eyes just before he planted a bullet between them.

He tried to picture MacMasters-the leader of this so-called gang, but couldn't. He'd never seen the man, wouldn't know him from Adam. But Wilson-his sallow face was burned in Nick's mind, as sure as the memory of the flames that had burned this house to the ground.

He lifted his head at the sound of horses and stood. When Jarrod and a small group of men emerged from the darkness, Nick was grateful. Somehow, even on a night like this when the world was out of control; just the sight of Pappy put things into perspective. Pulled out of his dark thoughts, Nick approached the men.

When Jarrod dismounted with the two men accompanying him, he was a different man than when he had left only a few short hours ago. He'd had time to let this disaster settle in, and Nick sensed it weighed heavily on him. His hollow eyes carried a look as if he'd come to some important decision while he was away. Nick had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

Jarrod clasped the horse's reins in his hands. "Nick, you remember Matt and Andrew Lawler."

Nick nodded to the men and they moved silently toward the wagon, steeling themselves for what they were about to see. Matt and his son Andrew had been guests at a few Barkley gatherings. They'd been to some of the cattle auctions, bought some Barkley beef from time to time. This was a helluva way to meet up with them again.

Matt gasped and gripped the side of the cart with both hands. He dropped his head and wept. Nick's first thought was to go to him, but his son gripped his father's shoulders and held him tight.

A hand gripped Nick's shoulder, startling him out of the fog of grief that had blanketed him. He saw Jarrod's concerned face and knew the thing that was on Jarrod's mind had to be said.

"We need to talk," Jarrod said.

Nick followed him a few paces to where they were at last out of earshot. Jarrod watched the scene at the wagon for a few moments, seeming unsure of how to begin, but he finally spoke. "We need to pull out, Nick."

"Pull out?" Nick nearly shouted, but brought his voice down. "Why?"

"You need to listen to everything I have to say. Everything, before you respond." He let out a heavy sigh and propped his hands on his hips. "While I was at the Lawler place, I heard that Fred Madden and a few deputies killed some bandits outside Stockton."

"Was Wilson one of them?"

"I don't know," Jarrod said. "The story is that Fred and his men were ambushed, Nick. The sherrif and his men were lucky to turn the tables on them. Fred's been laid up with a bullet to his leg. We're getting ourselves into a hornet's nest here. I've never seen any human beings that need killing as much as these men, but you and I, no matter how much anger we feel inside, we're not the ones to do it. For our own good and for the sake of the family, we need to let the professionals finish this job. It's time for us to pull out."

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Not on your life! I'm not pulling out." Then he began to nod, "The more I think about it, the more sure I am. This is something I need to finish. Collins'll be back soon, we'll see where those bastards are headed and-"

"Can you hear yourself, Nick?" Jarrod said. "You're not thinking clearly. This is not some barroom brawl you can just fight out and dust your hands of. These are ruthless killers who'll stop at nothing-who enjoy killing. They're toying with us. You stay in this-you follow Collins, who's a professional fighter, a seasoned killer in the Indian wars-and you'll go home in a pine box!"

"Is that what you really think?" Nick shot back. "Don't forget you were so fired up to follow Collins yourself. It was your plan, wasn't it? Get them fresh horses. Get them more guns. And now-I can't believe you're giving up after what you've seen here. These people need to be stopped! Now more than ever."

Jarrod's eyes flashed. "Yes, Nick they need to be stopped! What happened here today-the murders of these innocent people-have made me see things more clearly. When I looked in that barn and saw what they'd done to Margaret and Janie-God, Nick! That could have been Mother and Audra. Have you thought about that? They need us at home, to protect them. The stakes are too high to risk doing anything else."

"Father wouldn't let these men go. I sure as hell won't."

"At what cost? You_are_ just like Father. He wasn't always the best at figuring out when he'd stepped in too deep. I'm here, and I'm telling you I won't let you do this, Nick. Think of what you'll do to Mother when your foolish stubbornness gets you killed!"

"Have you forgotten what these murderers did to Heath? Have you?" Nick was in Jarrod's face now, trying to get him to respond in any other way than with reason. He wanted to spur this lawyer to action. See if he had any Barkley fire left in him. "I may be stubborn," Nick said, "but I'm sure as hell no coward!"

Jarrod's eyes went hard. Before Nick could react, Jarrod punched both hands into Nick's chest with such force that it sent him stumbling backward. Nick lunged at him, swinging his fist and connecting with Jarrod's chin.

Jarrod stumbled, but rebounded. His fist came hard, swift, and solid, snapping Nick's head back and sending him tumbling over a plow that had somehow appeared behind him. He hit the dirt hard.

"Lunatic!" Jarrod said between breaths.

Nick propped himself up on one elbow, satisfied he'd gotten the response he'd wanted. He rubbed his sore jaw. "Lawyer you still pack a punch." He spit. "I should whup you into tomorrow."

"You never could," Jarrod remarked. He swiped the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and then jerked his shoulder to straighten his jacket.

"I never wanted to," Nick admitted. "Not even now, Pappy." He didn't bother to get up. Wanted to remain on the ground, in the dirt because getting up would force him to face Jarrod again, man to man. Jarrod nearly had him convinced to make the decision to go home. He still couldn't bring himself to do that.

Jarrod stepped around the plow, held his hand out to pull him up.

Nick looked at the hand for a moment and then clasped it. Accepting Jarrod's aid and got to his feet.

"Nick," Jarrod said, sounding beaten, though he never had been, nor would he ever be. "What would you have me tell our Mother?"

Nick could see his dilemma in going home without the brother he'd promised to watch over, but he also understood that Jarrod wouldn't do it if he wasn't convinced it was the right thing to do.

"Tell Mother I love her."


	18. Chapter 18

Nick and Jarrod avoided speaking to each other for the hour or so it took to ensure that the Lawlers were ready to cart the bodies of the unfortunate Doddards to their home. There they would lie while family and friends said their good-byes and mourned their loss. The wagon started off at a slow pace, two horses tied behind.

Watching the two solemn men ride away, Nick remembered Father's funeral, how the preacher had said vengeance is God's alone. Even then, Nick hated that idea and rejected it outright. He wanted to rip the hearts out of the men who killed Father. He never got a chance. Somehow or another someone got in his way, whether it was Jarrod, or Mother with their words speaking against violence. How it always begot more of the same.

Audra, who was sixteen at the time, had never spoken a word against his desire for revenge. She'd actually let him rant to her when no one else would listen, her lips tight, her eyes mostly on needlework. But sometimes he'd catch it, that little glint in her eyes that told him she understood. Once, just once, she'd dared ask him if she could come along when he decided to hunt the men down. The cold desperation he saw in her at that moment frightened sense back into him.

He'd had to be a role model for her. He had to swallow that rage so as not to lead her down that destructive path.

He couldn't think about Audra now, about her and Mother. Jarrod was right about everything. Nick knew this innately, without having to mull it over much. But no one had seen Heath the way he was when Nick found him, drenched in his own blood under that Sequoia. The mark left on Nick was indelible, a shadow unseen, and ran deep like a river. He wouldn't; he couldn't back away. Not this time. He walked from the yard toward his horse, leaving Jarrod standing there alone with whatever conclusions he'd drawn on his own.

He no longer wanted Jarrod with him. The fight with his brother crystallized in his mind at least one aspect of this entire venture that had gnawed at him; if Jarrod were killed going after these men, Nick would die too.

It was a fool's errand. Those were Jarrod's words early on. Nick was a damned fool.

With a single-mindedness spurred on by the madness that was churning his blood, he mounted Coco in one deliberate motion and kicked the horse into a gallop. He didn't look back. He couldn't. One connection with Jarrod, a single glance, and his resolve would crumble.

"Nick!" his brother shouted.

Nick even imagined Jarrod running to stop him, but he would never know his brother's actions. Darkness was swift in the cold California night.

* * *

><p>Jarrod knew by the look in Nick's face what his decision was, but his feet were rooted to the spot. When Nick turned and mounted his horse, Jarrod's fists went hard and a sudden adrenaline rush sent blood pounding in his ears. He could barely hear his own voice. "Nick!"<p>

But his brother rode out and vanished quickly into the dark and into the unknown.

"Damned fool!" he cursed to himself.

They'd both been fools this whole time. Neither one calculated where exactly they fit in this whole business, but now Jarrod understood. He only wished his hard-headed brother wasn't so enraged that he was blind to the obvious. The family stays together, especially in times like these. Father would still be alive if he had followed that simple rule.

Jarrod rushed to his mount and grabbed the pummel to boost into the saddle, but he paused. What would he accomplish if he chased after Nick and tried to force sense into him? He ran his tongue along the cut in his lip and tasted how it would be. Another fight, more accusations...there was no forcing Nick. He had to come to his own conclusions, in his own time.

He mounted Jingo and for once in his life, his resolve failed him. A laugh escaped him; the sound was so incongruous with everything around him. It stung his eyes.

He was at a crossroads. His family was most assuredly not together. Either way he went, he would not be unifying them. He would be taking sides.

The choice became clearer still, now that he saw it this way. He turned Jingo toward the west and to home.


	19. Chapter 19

_BEST SERVED COLD-continued_

_Jarrod rushed to his mount and grabbed the pommel to boost into the saddle, but he paused. What would he accomplish if he chased after Nick and tried to force sense into him? He ran his tongue along the cut in his lip and tasted how it would be. Another fight, more accusations...there was no forcing Nick. He had to come to his own conclusions, in his own time._

_He mounted Jingo and for once in his life, his resolve failed him. A laugh escaped him; the sound was so incongruous with everything around him. It stung his eyes._

_He was at a crossroads. His family was most assuredly not together. Either way he went, he would not be unifying them. He would be taking sides._

_The choice became clearer still, now that he saw it this way. He turned Jingo toward the west and to home._

* * *

><p><p>

As he rode along the trail toward Stockton, Jarrod kept reliving last night's fight with Nick. Each time he looked at it, it played out differently. Had Jarrod listened more to what Nick was saying, had he not reacted with violence to his brother's taunting...oh, Nick had needed a lesson, but lessons taught with fists never sank in with him, they only made him more bull-headed.

They'd both been out of their minds to go so far in chasing after that lunatic Eli Wilson without considering the effect on Mother and Audra...and even Heath who couldn't defend them, much less himself, from his sick bed. Revenge never solved anything. Father's death was proof of that. What good would it do any of them? That kind of thinking would take a man to an early grave one way or another.

He looked back to the trail he'd covered since the early morning hours. The trees had receded and given way to dry grassland. There wasn't a human being in sight. All that was left was the dust, the wind and a heap of regret.

But if he went back for Nick, he would be forsaking the rest of the family. It couldn't be helped. He was making the right decision, but it sure felt like hell.

Ahead on the horizon, a small shack appeared. He would see more and more of these out-buildings as he neared Stockton. A couple of hours would get him home. He rode in a little weary of what he might find. After the scene at the Doddard's place, he prayed he'd find someone living and then prayed again that he wouldn't have to kill them.

He rode in slow. Maybe Jingo could get water there. The animal needed some soon. He was sweating more and needed to rest.

Three horses stood outside the shack. Riderless. No men in sight. With no trees, nothing to hide his approach, Jarrod decided the best way to go was to ride straight in...with his hand resting atop his sidearm.

Closer.

Someone stepped out into the shadow of the flimsy porch, too far yet to see details, but the man stood stock still, feet in a wide stance, clearly watching the approaching rider. Jarrod gripped the sidearm and was tempted to pull it from the holster when he heard the greeting.

"It's Barkley!" the man called and stepped into the sunlight. Two other men came out of the shack, but lingered there as the first man approached.

Once in the sunlight, Jarrod recognized the sandy hair. Collin's deputy. "Jake Randall," he said.

"Didn't expect to see you this far west," Randall replied, squinting into the sun.

Jarrod dismounted. "I didn't expect it either."

"Where's that ol' son-of-a-b itch Collins? He far behind?"

Jarrod shook his head. "He's not with me. Is there water for my horse?"

Randall gestured toward the shack. "Round to the side there." He eyed Jingo for a moment and then his eyes flashed back to Jarrod. "You hit some trouble. Is Collins alright? What about your brother?"

There was a light in his eyes-the same kind Jarrod had seen in Nick's before they parted ways. Vengeance. Determination. A hint of blood lust. Someone had to bring reason back into the fold.

"They were both alive, last I saw them." Jarrod's voice sounded hollow. He cleared his throat of the dust from the road. "Let me take care of my horse first, and then I'll fill you in."

"Sure," said Randall, stepping aside. "But if you want news from Stockton, I'll give it to you now."

Jarrod only stared at him.

A slow grin spread across Randall's face. "Willie Clay Wilson hung himself in his jail cell. Can you believe it? Now why'd he go and do a thing like that if he was an innocent man?" He shook his head and, chuckling to himself, he turned and stepped back up to the porch and the other two waiting men.

Willie Clay. Dead. Jarrod couldn't contemplate it. He just felt a need to escape the growing madness around him. Maybe that was what Wilson tried to do in his jail cell, escape the insanity in the only way he knew how. Jarrod led Jingo to the water trough, and wondered that if by leaving Nick, he hadn't done the same thing.

* * *

><p>"Collins? That you?" Nick was still in the saddle, gun in hand. He hadn't had time to dismount by the stream when he saw another figure down the bank, dunking his head in the water next to an extremely thirsty horse.<p>

The figure sat up and tossed his head, flinging water droplets in an arch behind him.

"Course it's me," he said. "You're still alive aren't ya?" He pushed back the wet mass of hair and settled his hat back in place. He stood, drying the excess water from his hands on his shirt.

Nick grinned and holstered his gun. "I didn't recognize you without that monstrosity you call a mustache."

"Yeah, well...half of it burned off in the fire. Had to trim the other side to even it out. It'll grow back."

"I hope not."

"Where's your brother?"

Nick dismounted, allowed Coco to take his fill of the cool water. "He ah...he left. What happened at the Doddard place shook him up. We've got a family to look after-"

Collins raised a hand. "Don't need to explain anything to me. Takes a while for a man to get used to something like that...but hell, you never really get used to it. You just accept it and move on."

"Accept it?" Nick retorted. "A family murdered like that?"

"In my line of work, you have to set it aside to get the job done, but it never leaves. It just...waits." He went to his horse and adjusted the saddle. "Are you ready to go on with this?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here, but are you ready? 'Cause we're going to see more bloodshed before this thing's through."

"I intend to see Eli Wilson pay for what he did to my brother. I'll be ready for that till the end."

"It'll be sooner than you think." Collin's tightened the last buckle and faced Nick. "They're camped 'bout three miles from here. They ain't movin'. They're just sittin'."

"Why?"

"They figure on killin' us. McMasters has had me in his sites a long time. I guess he sees this as his chance. And from what I hear, Wilson has the same idea about you."

"Why are they waiting? Why don't they just come out here and kill us now?"

"It's a game to them. Some kind of twisted game. No rules." Collin's let out a laugh. His eyes flickered with the joy of a madman. He mounted his horse. "Let's go."

"What about Randall? We should wait for him."

"We'll do that...for a spell, but I ain't lettin' McMasters out of my grasp again. His trail ends here."


	20. Chapter 20

Nick's innate restlessness had him chomping at the bit for some action, anything to keep from thinking too long about where he was and what he was doing. If he gave himself any time to contemplate, he would be opening the door to doubt and questions. They had ridden well past the threshold of reason. Now it would be survival and as Collin's would say, "Getting the job done."

The so-called camp where MacMasters was settled-in was supposedly three miles from where Nick had met up with Collins by the stream. The trail they now took was much longer than that. A circuitous route would help keep them undetected by the gang and their look-outs. They had only spoken sparingly and in low tones for the past hour, trying to keep noise to a minimum, but Collin's had begun to get itchy too.

He shifted in his saddle and stretched his back. "I been on horseback too long over the years, friend. Too damned long. You know when I was a young man, about nineteen, twenty, I could ride like a Comanche. Had to, to say alive."

Nick only grunted. Still not wanting to speak.

"Saw a lot of fightin' cross the Rio Grande. A lot of blood spilled." Collins settled back into his habitual slouch and pulled a packet from his saddlebag. "Tobacco?"

Nick shook his head. "Never touched the stuff."

"Teeth might fall out. You're better off." He stuffed a wad between cheek and gum. "Your ah...brother...he uses his head. He got out while the gettin' was good."

A surge of anger welled up, but Nick tamped it down. "He's no coward, if that's what you're driving at," he said through his teeth, and shifted to ease the sudden tension in his shoulders. "And any man who so much as suggests-"

"I ain't suggesting anything." Collins said, more serious now. "I never fought him. Hard to judge the measure of a man unless you fight him."

Nick rolled his shoulders. The tightness wouldn't work out. "Get to the point unless you want to judge my measure again."

Collins chuckled. "I got you friend. You woulda made a good ranger. A good one, had things been different. I'll get to my point."

"I'd be obliged."

"You got a lotta anger gettin' ya through this, but it ain't going to keep you there. You gotta put your emotions in your pocket and don't take 'em out until it's all over. Even the anger. Makes you do crazy things."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Now up ahead a bit you're going to see something you don't want to see. I thought about passing around it, avoiding it altogether, but figured it would be best you saw it-face it straight on. It could very well be where you and I will end up by the end of the day."

Nick scowled and was about to demand what the hell Collins was talking about when he saw something on the path ahead. A body. He should have expected it. One of the outlaws probably.

He'd ride by it. That would shut Collins up. Wouldn't even dismount to look at it. Didn't need to. One fewer of them bettered the odds.

The body lay face-down. As they approached, he studied the clothing. Blue gingham shirt, one suspender hooked around the shoulder. Pants looked worn as if from years of work. Blood, black as pitch, had soaked into the ground beneath the body. An image of Heath, lying injured under that sequoia flashed in Nick's mind and before he knew it, he was on the ground, kneeling, grasping the shoulder of the man who had been dead for at least a day.

He tugged on the shoulder and the body twisted revealing his identity.

Nick sucked in a breath, didn't hear the groan that escaped is own throat. Jeremy Doddard, the boy who had gone missing from the Doddard place—the boy Nick so desperately wanted to be found alive-was shot through the eye. Flies swarmed the body, crawled in and out of the hole where the boy's eye once was.

Nick spun on his heels, attempted to get up, but convulsed, vomiting his last meal onto the trail. His hat had fallen to the ground and Nick was vaguely aware of it being snatched up and out of the way.

When he could catch his breath, he got to his feet and to his horse. He swiped his sleeve across his sweaty forehead and rested against the saddle. The strong smell of leather and horse masked the death that hung in the still air.

He jerked the bandana from his neck and wiped his face. The tears, the sweat, the dust was all so bitter. He took a swig from his canteen and spat. Then drank the tinny lukewarm water.

Collins stood a few feet away, studying him intently. Nick's big black hat was in his hands. "This is your last chance, Nick. You still have time to use your head and turn back."

Nick shoved the hair from his eyes. Jeremy Doddard lay in his field of vision, but he no longer wanted to look. If they could do anything for the boy, it was one thing. So many spectres stood watch on this road-so many dead-they seemed to await his decision too. Only the living could do what needed to be done. "There's no turning back." He took his hat from Collins and settled it on his head. His voice was rough as if still coated with dust. "Let's get this job done."


	21. Chapter 21

Jarrod primed the rusty pump and drew water into the trough. As his horse drank, Jarrod splashed water on his own face and neck. Certain Nick was headed into danger, he cursed himself for abandoning him, but he couldn't get the image of what MacMasters' gang had done to Margaret and Janie Doddard. That family owned a prosperous horse breeding ranch. They were a hard-working family. Janie had gone to school with Audra. It could have _been_ Audra.

Eli Wilson held a long-standing grudge against the Barkley's. Jarrod hadn't considered that before he left the family alone and unprotected.

His throat tightened, and he felt his tenuous grip on sanity slipping away. He scrubbed both hands over his face. _Get to the facts__, counselor._ The only way to get through this moment was to know everything there was to know. He'd learn as much as he could from the men in the cabin and make a committed decision. It was the only way to handle a crisis.

He'd done the same when Father died, had played a crucial role in holding his devastated family together. Even then, Nick had been the one to watch most carefully. He was the toughest of Father's children to make walk the line. Jarrod had faced the hardest decision of his life last night to let Nick go. If only he knew for certain that he'd been right, but only one thing _was_ certain, if he couldn't keep his thoughts in check, he'd go crazy.

Facts.

He drew a deep breath and straightened. The men inside this cabin on the outskirts of nowhere knew things Jarrod didn't. Leaving Jingo at the trough, he stepped up to the porch and went inside.

As his eyes adjusted, he took in the scene. Jake Randall sat on a stool at a flimsy two-person table. Across from him slumped a lanky, long-haired man with a badge. The stranger shuffled a deck of cards in one hand. Randall seemed mesmerized.

"S'all in the wrist," the man was saying, a rolled cigarette balanced on his lips.

To Jarrod's right, another man, a big fellow with a slouch hat and a wad of tobacco in his cheek, rifle in hand, sat watch at the cabin's only window. Someone had used bottles for the glass, and the man squinted through holes between the panes.

"Sit down Jarrod," Jake said. "You look like you could use the rest."

Jarrod walked farther in. The only seat was a barrel in a corner, but he didn't want to sit.

Jake saw his hesitation. "You might as well sit and wait for the rest of the posse to arrive."

"I need to know," Jarrod said, "If you have any more news from Stockton. About my family."

Jake raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Haven't heard anything, besides, we're sure we've run the remnants of MacMaster's gang out of Stockton. Wouldn't you say, Pleas?"

Pleas-short for Pleasant-was about as quaint as a dirt grub. His badge was the only clean thing about him, and it stood out like the North Star on his dingy plaid shirt.

"I'd say so, Jake." He shifted his small black eyes to Jarrod. "I seen your mother yesterday, matter of fact. Small woman, but not a lick of fear. When she talked to me, she looked like she would just as soon face down a grizzly bear. I'd be scairt to cross her path was I a Wilson...or a MacMasters."

This brought chuckles to all of the men and a small amount of relief to Jarrod. "She's all right then."

"Looked to be." He set the cards on the table and tapped the deck. A card slid out from the middle.

Jake cut the deck and looked at the card. He grinned. "Whoo-wee! Ace of Spades! How do you _do_ that?"

Pleas shrugged and took the cards to shuffle again.

Jarrod grabbed the empty barrel by the rim, flipped it over to the flat side. "You say you're waiting on someone."

"Yeah. Hell, what am I thinking? You don't know my good friends here." He nodded toward Pleas. "You've met Pleas. Friend of Collins from way back. Over by the window's Bart. You know Sheriff Madden fairly well, don't ya Bart?"

"He's my cousin."

"Not sure as I believe you two comin' from the same family," Jake said with a laugh.

Bart humphed but didn't move. "Be glad I don't waste my energy on kids like you, Randall."

Jake glanced back to Jarrod. "We're waiting on your sheriff and another deputy before we go to rounding up the rest of MacMasters' Gang."

"Sheriff Madden?" Jarrod said. "I heard he was shot."

"He was up and around when I saw him. Took a bullet to the leg, a superficial wound from what he said."

Jarrod sat, removed his hat and pushed a hand through his hair. Just knowing Madden hadn't been severely injured brought tentative relief. Jarrod really needed to see him. "That's good. That's good."

"Time to get all the cards on the table." Jake held up a hand. "Not that kind."

Pleas pocketed the deck.

Jake turned to Jarrod. "So, what's happened with Collins?"

Nick and Collins took a position on a ridge overlooking a scene of men, horses, and a lean-to by a narrow strip of river. They tied their horses behind the ridge and out of view. No matter what Collins said, Nick couldn't 'pocket' what he'd seen on the road. He couldn't put away for later the feelings he held for Heath and the growing hatred for that no-good excuse for a man Wilson. Something had to give.

It was going to be Eli Wilson or him.

"How many you count?" Collins asked. "I counted six of 'em."

"That's what I got, but someone's in the lean-to," Nick said. "Could be injured, but we can't count them out."

He squinted and tried to decide which one of them was Wilson. They all wore hats and from this perspective, he didn't get a good glimpse of their faces.

"There's MacMasters down by the river," Collins said. He pointed to an older man with wisps of straggly gray hair falling on his shoulders. The outlaw must have fancied himself, as he was dressed in a suit and embroidered gold vest. "He's just standin' there alone. I got a clear shot."

"We're waiting for Randall," Nick said, not wanting to stir up a hornet's nest without Randall's support.

"Damned shame." Collins slid down and sat with his back to the boulder they used as cover. "Don't want him dead anyway. A dead man can't tell me what he did with the rest of the loot from that train robbery. If I could get my hands on that gold-"

Nick sucked in a breath through his teeth. "A woman's with them. Just came out of the lean-to. For God's sake, I know who she is."

"Barmaid," said Collins.

"Sheila from Strawberry," Nick muttered. "What in hell is she doing here? With _them_?"

"Thought you woulda figured that out by now." Collins said without looking up. "She's Eli Wilson's girl."

"No," Nick said, remembering how helpful she was to him at Red's. "Not possible."

"Maybe, but you've got eyes. Decide for yourself."

Nick watched the scene below. She talked to one of the men who removed his hat and swiped his forehead. Nick muttered a curse. Eli Wilson. There he was, and as Collin's had said, Nick had a clear shot. Wilson and Sheila argued, Nick could hear the heated voices, but could not decipher the words. Sheila lifted her skirts and stormed back to the lean-to a woman's faint sob was carried up and dissipated on the wind. Nick slid behind the boulder with Collins.

Nick tried to make sense of what he'd just seen. "She claimed to know my brother Heath."

"She would claim any damn thing. She's a habitual liar," Collins said. "Wouldn't know the truth if it hit her between the eyes." He checked his revolver, popped out the cylinder, and loaded a bullet. "We need to split up. Be ready for hell to break loose." He looked around. "I figure if Randall gets back in time, he'll come straight on from down river. There'll likely be more men with him as that was the plan before he left. It's about 2 o'clock right now, I aint waitin' until sundown to get at MacMasters if you take my meanin'. One of us should wait here. It's a good clean view and a perfect position for shootin' down amongst 'em. Over to the right, there's a group of trees, branches low to the ground. Looks to be a likely spot for one of us to wait this out. We could still see each other and both of us will have a clear view of the camp. What do you say?"

"Looks good," Nick said. "Any chance of them breaking up camp before nightfall?"

"If they do, by God they'll find a sudden change in the weather." Collins look was grim. "It'll be raining bullets."

Nick's thoughts went to Sheila. He'd witnessed enough death in the past two days to last a lifetime. "What about the girl?" he said. "If we fire on that camp, there's a chance she might be hit."

"She's one of 'em," Collins shot back. "If she's in the way, it ain't my concern."

"It _is_ mine," Nick said, "That girl won't be killed by one of our bullets. You got that? I don't know why she's with them. I don't care. It wouldn't matter to me if she was with MacMasters himself. She's not a target."

"She's _not_ a target, Nick." Collins glared. "But she _is_ amongst 'em. All I can say is, when the time comes, she best stay out of the way and she best not be shootin'."


	22. Chapter 22

Jake's demeanor changed when he heard about the murders of the Doddard family. Jarrod got some satisfaction out of that. He'd been taking this entire situation much too lightly. Jarrod didn't know whether it was due to his youth, or his having become accustomed to violence through working with Collins. Either way, that attitude was unsettling. To see him silenced for a moment and not joking around with card tricks helped Jarrod to believe for a moment that he was with the right men. Even Pleas was more subdued.

Never before had such a savage gang come through Southern California. Jarrod needed to know that the men handling the problem would respond professionally. There could still be a chance on bringing in at least some members of MacMasters' gang alive-and most importantly, Nick who shouldn't have been on this manhunt in the first place.

That was another sore spot about this whole affair. Jarrod had an uncontrollable, hot-headed brother who just might get himself killed.

"So the gang must not be far from the Doddard place then," said Jake.

"By now they could be in Nevada or nearer to Mexico as far as I know," said Jarrod. Giving word to the possibilities only confounded him, made him more and more uncertain.

_Nick could die out there alone. _

Unwelcome restlessness overcame him. Jarrod stood. "I don't know what I'm doing here." Disgusted with the violence, reckless attitudes, and his own indecision, he moved toward the door.

Jake Randall glanced up. "What's your plan?" The look on the young man's face told Jarrod they were going to need every man they could get.

"Plan?" Jarrod retorted. There was a word that didn't fit in the world in which he now resided, but boy howdy, they needed a plan.

Boy howdy.

Heath's expression had popped into his thoughts so naturally, as if it were his own. The bond was strong between all three Barkley brothers. Had he not noticed it before? He thought he had, but now, in his mind, any weaknesses in their relationships solidified.

Jake still waited for a response. Reluctant to voice anything that might weaken him, Jarrod opened the door and stepped outside.

The brightness of the afternoon sun stung his eyes. He tipped the brim of his hat down, took a deep draw off the crisp afternoon air, and stepped off the porch. The desolate vastness of the southern California territory was here. Looking eastward, as far as the eye could see were hills, not a homestead for miles. If Jake was right, if Jarrod believed what he and Pleas had told him, then he could assume his family was safe at last report. Mother had been in town. Pleas confirmed her well-being at least at the time he saw her yesterday.

Could he trust their word? He'd used less reliable witnesses to help him convict criminals in a court of law. These were high stakes indeed, and Jarrod saw the scales tipping. He had to forego what happened at the Doddard ranch and assume Jake was right. He had to believe Mother and Audra were well. If he wanted Nick to survive, he would have to go with this rag tag group.

He muttered a curse. "Nick!" He spoke his brother's name into the dry California wind. "When this is all over, by God, you and I are going to have one hell of a talk."

* * *

><p>"They're comin'," Bart shouted as he lumbered onto the porch. The floorboards creaked beneath him.<p>

Jarrod turned and looked into the direction Bart indicated. Two riders. One of them looked to be Fred Madden.

If a man could put all his fortunes into just seeing someone familiar, someone he could trust...

As the Sheriff approached, Jarrod could see he favored his right leg, only used his left to urge the horse forward, but what a sight for sore eyes he was.

Fred held up a hand in greeting as he came up to the shack. He dismounted gingerly and on the left side of his horse. "I was held up," he said. He saw Jarrod and he too seemed relieved to have a familiar face join the group. He spoke to Jarrod. "Ciego came into town at the last minute wanting to know where in the hell those two Barkley boys had run off to."

"Good to see you, Fred," Jarrod said. "Is my family all right?"

"They're fine, Jarrod. Ciego's taking good care of them." He turned to his companion. "Take these two to water. We've got a long ride ahead of us."

The young deputy nodded and took both horses to the trough.

Fred limped toward the shack. "Good to see you Jarrod. We can use a man like you. Where's Nick?"

Jarrod frowned. "He's not here. He's still with Collins."

Fred saw something in Jarrod's expression. He clapped Jarrod's shoulder. "We'll catch up with MacMasters, don't worry," he said. "I have four members of his gang in the lock-up. He knows his time's running out."


	23. Chapter 23

The posse, as Jake referred to them, was finally on its way to end MacMasters' reign. Only a half hour had passed since Fred's arrival. The men decided to take a quicker passage toward the river which, based on all that Jarrod told them, was the first likely place to find MacMasters' gang. The route, casually referred to in these parts as 'River Pass', was part of an overgrown railway on which the miners a generation ago once delivered ore from the mines.

The coffee Pleas had quickly made for them before their departure, a black, mind-clearing brew, had begun to wear off. Jarrod rubbed the back of his neck. He hoped that he would have all of his wits about him when the time came to confront that gang. His focus now was only on Nick. He no longer cared what happened to MacMasters or Wilson. His only goal was to get his brother home alive.

As they rode in silence toward that end, he remembered another time he had gone after his headstrong sibling.

* * *

><p>Only two months after their father's murder, as the head of the house, Jarrod took charge. The family buried a father, and Jarrod buried himself in the paperwork that kept Father's ranch above water. Meanwhile, Nick's anger over the tragedy grew. His mood became sullen and reproachful. He was at the ranch less and less. Things were being said here and there, between the hands on the ranch about Nick's carousing in town.<p>

He would come to his senses, Jarrod thought. He loved the ranch too much to let it go for long and his deep respect for Father would set him on the right path soon enough. Though Jarrod grieved too, his father's death had hit the business hard. Someone had to attend to it to keep the family's finances in the black.

It was at dinner one night, with Father's chair empty and Mother and Audra both eating very little when Nick's absence hit them all.

"Jarrod," Mother spoke quietly. "Your brother has been gone for two days."

Jarrod put his fork down. He wasn't hungry either, though Silas still set a fine table. "I know."

"He will listen to you," she said. She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "Bring him back to us."

Jarrod saw grief in her solemn eyes. Audra too, though she showed no tears, looked so forlorn as though she'd already lost her brother.

He'd been so immersed in his budding law practice and ranch business that he'd lost track of what was most important; the emotional well-being of his family. So he acquiesced and rode to Stockton to look for his prodigal brother. He had wanted to let Nick get out whatever was in his system. He would rather not be there to witness his certain downfall, but the look in Mother's eyes at dinner had convinced him. If not for Nick, who Jarrod had been certain needed to work this out on his own, he would do it for her.

When he came across his brother that night he realized Mother had been right. He was in trouble. Immediate trouble. Three men were making quick work of him in the street next to the alley by the saloon. A few late night stragglers were standing by to watch and more than a few egged them on. Glass from one of the windows lay on the wooden planks on the sidewalk and beer bottles littered the street. A barroom brawl had gotten out of hand and Nick was in the dirt taking the beating of his life.

Jarrod grabbed his pistol and shot high into the air. His horse reared, but the shot did the job in silencing the crowd. Faces turned to him.

"He's had enough," Jarrod said, lowering his gun. "Whatever he's done, you've made him pay."

He dismounted and eased slowly toward Nick, who lay crumpled and coated in blood and dust.

"He owes me," growled one man, panting and bloodied too. "Had an ace up his sleeve. I'll take it out of his hide."

"How much does he owe you?"

"Three hundred dollars."

Jarrod winced. He didn't carry that kind of money. They'd have to wait until morning, when the bank opened. "We're staying in town tonight. I'll see that he gets it to you in the morning."

"What if you both leave town? That's a lot of money!"

"Jarrod Barkley's a man of his word," interrupted the bartender who stood at the doorway of his busted place. "They both used to be."

Jarrod cursed. They'd have to pay for the damages too. "I'll come by tomorrow, Phil, and discuss the damages."

Phil nodded and disappeared into the establishment.

The accuser took this as a sign of trust. "All right then," he said, and glaring once more at the crumpled form in the street, he reluctantly turned and went back into the bar with his companions.

Jarrod waited until the crowd dispersed before kneeling next to his brother. He holstered the gun and turned Nick's face to him. Nick moaned and his eyes creaked open. Blood ran freely from his swollen nose and cut lip. "They gone?" he asked.

Jarrod's anger exploded. He grabbed a handful of Nick's jacket and jerked him to his feet. Not able to carry his own weight, Nick slumped into him. Jarrod had taken all he could take. He shoved his brother against the wall and held him there. His fists trembled as they tightened around the leather. He shook him. "I ought to _whip_ you into tomorrow!"

Nick slid sideways and propped himself against a stack of crates. Beneath a curtain of tousled black hair were two glowering hazel eyes-the whites turned red from drink. "Why did you come here?" Nick jerked out of Jarrod's grasp. "You're not my Pappy."

"You busted up that place in there!" Jarrod shouted. "You're lucky I came along when I did before one of those men got the gumption up to shoot you!"

"Let 'em!" Nick's anger, the drinking, the fighting-all of it-was born from inconsolable grief. Only now did Jarrod notice. Nick always carried his emotions on his sleeve leaving them bare and unprotected. He had to learn to control them like everybody else.

"Do you think I'm going to stand by and let you drink yourself to death or get yourself killed like Father did?"

Nick's eyes hardened and he swung a messy right hook. Jarrod stepped back and caught his brother before he fell to the ground.

"You idiot," he muttered.

Nick looked up and shot Jarrod one last glare. "I hate you," he said and went limp in his brother's arms.

"I don't doubt it, Nick," Jarrod remarked. "You hate the world, right about now." He slung Nick's arm over his shoulder and half dragged him toward the nearest hotel. "And so do I."

* * *

><p>The dark mood from that night long ago crept back, but Jarrod didn't hate the world. He hated some of the men in it. How they wantonly destroyed the lives of the innocent, how their actions played out among those whose lives they touched.<p>

A couple of hours would bring he and Nick back together. Jarrod remembered a prayer from an old hymnal.

_"Till the shadows lengthen, and the evening comes, and the fever of life is over and our work is done."_

"Amen to that," Fred replied. "Amen to that."


	24. Chapter 24

Behind the trees which Nick now waited, rose a steep incline. He didn't have to crouch so much as stand in direct line with a tree and lean against the damp, leaf-covered earth behind him. Collins' position was higher and to his right. Even from fifty feet or so, Nick could tell Collins kept a sharp eye on MacMasters' movements.

Two men against six or seven. The odds weren't good. They couldn't even think of taking everyone alive and hope to come out victorious. Somebody would die today. That was a foregone conclusion. Jake Randall and his group wasn't anywhere close, so Nick resigned himself to expecting no help from the outside.

One element he hadn't counted on all this time was Sheila. He didn't want to believe what Collins had said about her. She was at the most misguided. It in no way made her worthy of death. If only she were still in Stockton, minding her business and sweeping Red's floors. Nick had seen her a few times when she emerged from the lean-to. She sometimes carried warm water from a fire, sometimes she carried thin towels. She was tending someone beneath the tarp. Judging by the solemn look on her face, and by the way Wilson guardedly watched her, it was someone she apparently cared a great deal about.

Nick took this invisible person into account. Even a sick man can pull a trigger.

Shadows stretched longer across the camp. Collins had said he would not wait until sundown. The show could begin at any time whether Nick was ready or not.

Whenever a thought crept up about how he had gotten here and why, Nick tried to push it back. He tried desperately to do as Collins advised and save that question for later. Nick's trade was ranching, that was what he did for a living. He defined himself by it, but at his moment, Nick wasn't a rancher. That was damned certain. He hated to think of what he had become to be at this point and wondered if there were any possibility afterward of going back to the way things used to be. Nick hoped Heath would forgive him for what he would do today in his name, because Nick could see now that coming this far, to the brink of battle, had been more for him than Heath.

Collins made a gesture, and Nick looked down into the camp toward two of the fellows who began to pack up their gear. They must be getting ready to move out. Collins crouched on his feet, his gun aiming across the top of the boulder.

Sheila emerged from the lean-to and walked around the back toward the woods behind. It was a chance, a slim one, and Nick could take it to save her life. He glanced up at Collins, who was now intent on the scene below, sighting in his kill shot.

Nick had to forget him. Take his chances on getting to Sheila before the 'rain of bullets'. He eased down the slope carefully, gun at the ready, digging his boot heels into the soft, moist dirt beneath the leaves as he descended.

Nick made more noise than a grizzly bear descending a mountain. Maybe it was the sound from the river, the constant water splashing over rocks, that covered for him. None of MacMasters' men turned his way.

Nearer now to the lean-to than was wise, he found Sheila readjusting her skirts and starting back. Nick waited for her to pass before springing out of cover. He clamped a hand over her mouth and hooking his other arm around her waist; he pulled her into the bushes.

She struggled and moved her jaw to bite.

"It's me, Nick Barkley," he whispered in her ear.

Her green eyes went wide as she recognized him.

She moaned but Nick tightened his grip, silencing her. "I'm saving your life. You stay low, and do as I say, and you won't get hurt."

She stilled and seemed to understand.

"I'm going to release you. Don't make a sound or we both will be dead. Understand?"

Her eyes didn't leave his, didn't blink. She nodded perceptively.

"Don't speak." Nick removed his hand. His fingers left red marks across her pale skin.

She swallowed hard. "Wha-"

Nick clamped his hand down again. "You're going to shut up and get out of here. NO more talk. Just get up and go into the woods as far as you can until the shooting stops."

She whimpered, but nodded again.

He let her go. "Run. Now."

She darted for the woods.

"Sheila!" called Eli as he walked toward Nick's hiding place. "Where you going girl?"

Sheila ran, and then cried as if her heart would break.

Eli was close. He would see Nick with another step. Nick leveled his gun.

"Sheila!" Eli yelled.

He looked down, met Nick's eyes. He started and reached for his holster.

Nick pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p>That first shot broke the silence the posse had become accustomed to and sent a sudden jolt through Jarrod, setting every nerve on edge. It wasn't far. More shots rang out. The battle had begun.<p>

"Upriver. Let's ride," Fred announced.

The men urged their horses to a gallop and drew weapons.

Adrenalin surging through his veins, Jarrod pictured the last time he saw Nick. The way he was before he rode off. _Be alive, Nick. _

"Be alive, or I swear, I'll kill you!" Jarrod's words were drowned out by the beating of hooves and the hail of gunfire.


	25. Chapter 25

Eli fell and writhed in the dirt, crying like the hurt animal he was. Nick had come all this way with the intent to kill, but if he killed Eli in revenge, he would _become_ him, and that wouldn't help Heath at all. Nick would no longer be able to call himself Tom Barkley's son. That was no way to live out the rest of his life.

A paralyzing shot to get him out of the fight had to be enough. Nick's bullet hit Eli in the shoulder of his shooting arm. He was out, but the fight had only begun.

Just then, a bullet broke through the bushes, showering him with debris. He was exposed and drawing fire. He crouched and fired back but the shooter broke into a run and Nick wasted the shot. Another bullet whizzed by his ear. Seeking better cover, he darted for the nearest tree.

The camp was in chaos. Men shouted. More guns fired. Nick took aim on one of the gang who struggled to get on top his jittery horse. The shot dropped him.

Bullets riddled the tree around Nick, splinters exploded, and then something akin to a bull slammed into him and knocked him to the ground.

It was no bull. It was a growling and howling Eli Wilson. "Shoulda kilt me!"

He brought up his gun and Nick realized he no longer had his. Eli had him. With his left arm pinned beneath his body, Nick grabbed the weapon that was pointed at his nose and struggled to shove it away. He saw the hammer of the gun move back. A shot rang out, and Eli collapsed like a cord of wood on top of him. Out of breath and dazed, not knowing what happened, Nick shouted. "Get _off _me!"

Jarrod broke through the brush, breathless. "Nick!" he said, kneeling beside his brother. It was then that Nick noticed the gunfire had stopped.

"Pappy," Nick wheezed. Eli was heavy and bleeding all over him. "A hand?"

Jarrod rolled Eli off, and Nick could breathe again, but it hurt.

"I think you've been shot." Jarrod went to work on opening Nick's shirt.

Nick looked. "Where?"

"Here. In the ribs," said Jarrod. He tilted his head to get a closer look. "You're lucky. Bullet passed clean through and not too deep. Might hurt like the devil, but-"

No wonder Nick hadn't been able to fight Eli effectively. He put his hand over the wound and it stung. Nick sucked in a breath. "You call that lucky?"

"After all we've been through?" Jarrod glanced at Eli and then back to Nick. His brows drew together and he frowned. "Yes, Nick. I call that lucky. Stay here, a minute. I think Fred needs help."

Fred Madden. Nick closed his eyes with relief. Opened them again to check Eli, but he was silent.

As Jarrod got up to go, Nick grabbed his arm.  
>"He's dead." Jarrod assured. "I didn't miss."<p>

"I know," said Nick, "Thanks, Pappy...for coming back."

Jarrod's expression relaxed some. He gently squeezed Nick's arm in reassurance and left.

Nick turned his head, and Eli stared back unseeing, in his neck was a gaping hole from Pappy's bullet.

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, and a few pulls from a whiskey flask and the pain didn't matter all that much. Nick might have a cracked rib or two, but after a more thorough examination, they found no lead in him. It was true. He had been lucky.<p>

Nick stood by the fire which one of the deputies had stoked with plenty of fuel. Three corpses in all, were laid side by side covered in the tarp from the lean-to. They all looked to be no more than firewood, Eli Wilson, and two others whose names Nick didn't know. Sheila sat silently rocking herself with her arms wrapped around her knees, her head bowed. She hadn't looked at Nick nor spoken since the shootings, but whoever she had been caring for in the lean-to, was dead. Shot, but not by one of them. The man had been sick a while, probably since the attack on the Doddards. Sheila would have a lot to sort through, but Nick couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

"Couldn't a done it without you, Nick." Collins said when he walked up. Not a scratch on him. "You kept 'em pretty busy down there."

Nick gave him a wry smile. "Least I could do." He gestured over at MacMasters, sullen and trussed up like a pig. "Got your man. Suppose he'll talk?"

Collins shrugged. "'Spect he might, with the right kind of persuading. There's a substantial reward for that gold. You'll be set for a windfall if we recover it."

Nick shook his head. "I don't want the money. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed."

"If that's the way you want it," Collins remarked. "If ever you want to step over to law enforcement, I'd be happy to-"

"I'm a rancher," Nick said. "Nothing more."

Collins chuckled. "I thought you might say that." He stuck out a hand. "Thanks for your help, Nick."

Nick shook his hand. "You're welcome."

Collins walked away, a man confident he'd come out on top.

Nick wished he felt the same. He gingerly walked toward the horses, careful not to jostle his wound too much, to where Jarrod tended Coco. He glanced at Nick. "You shouldn't be walking around, Nick. We have a long ride ahead."

"Feels better to stand." Nick watched him tie a knot, neither of them attempted to break the uneasy silence. After a moment, Nick couldn't take it anymore. "Pappy..."

Jarrod stopped and looked at him and it was then that Nick saw the deep hurt in his eyes. The hell Nick put him through, for the sake of vengeance.

Jarrod had come through for Nick so many times he couldn't count. So many times he'd saved Nick from himself. Jarrod killed Eli to save his skin. This rescue would cost him dearly in the weeks to come. "I'm sorry," said Nick, but the words weren't enough, would never be, for the man he respected most. "I should hav-"

"Don't," said Pappy. "What's done, had to be. We both made hurtful decisions, but we'll have to live with them. Let's not waste time on regretting what can't be fixed."

Nick nodded and swallowed past the lump in his throat. He knew Pappy and knew there would be plenty of discussion and hashing out once they were home and could finally begin to look forward.

Nick left it alone and prepared for the long ride home.

* * *

><p>Home was dearer to Nick now than when he left a week ago. What a homecoming it was. First were the heartfelt kisses and gentle hugs from Mother and Audra whose tears never seemed to end. Then from Silas came the late supper of heaping plates of steak, potatoes, and warm oven-baked bread. Audra beamed when Nick had two helpings of her apple pie. She'd forgotten to add any sugar, but he declared that it was the sweetest pie he'd ever tasted...and it was. When he finally announced himself incapable of taking another bite, Jarrod laughed and echoed his sentiments.<p>

Mother ushered them both out to the den to sit by the fire and poured a whiskey for Nick and a Scotch for Jarrod. The firelight glowed softly on her gentle face. "I'm so happy you're home," she said, and after good-night kisses, she retired upstairs.

Heath had been asleep since they arrived, but Nick wanted to see him. He would go upstairs and wake him soon, just to tell him he was proud he was his brother. The news about Eli could wait until morning.

Jarrod and Nick had no more words about what happened between them on the journey. It needed turning over in their minds. Soon, they would talk. Nick hoped that whatever conclusions they came to would bring them closer. He couldn't stand the thought of losing Jarrod's faith or his friendship.

Jarrod got up from the chair and set down his glass. "I want you to take it easy tomorrow, Nick, and for the rest of the week," he said. "You can't afford to tear Dr. Merar's stitches. Can't have you bedridden; we need to get this ranch working again."

Nick absently put his hand over the bandage the doc had given him in town. "It _is_ a working ranch," he said, but at Jarrod's stern look he added: "I'll take it easy."

"Good night," Jarrod said.

"Good night, Pappy."

Nick stayed a while and listened to the crackling fire.

When he went in to visit Heath before going to bed, it was very late. Nick decided he couldn't wake him. He just had to see Heath so he could be satisfied that he was still mending and healthier than when Nick had left him.

Someone had brought in a rocking chair with a thick cushion. Just what he needed. Nick sat and the chair creaked, but not overly loud. Besides the steady breathing of deep sleep, Heath didn't move. He seemed better...at least his coloring was normal and it looked as though the pain had become manageable. Nick took a sip of whiskey and stretched his legs out. Finally allowing himself to believe everything was getting better.

Heath opened his eyes. "Thought I heard you come in," he said.

Nick half-smiled. "I knew you were awake." He moved to set the whiskey down and winced.

"You doin' all right?" Heath asked.

"I should ask you." Nick settled back into the rocking chair.

"I'm doin' better," said Heath. "Got everything I need."

Nick thought about the ranch and the family. This had in some ways been one of the best evenings in his life. "I do to," he remarked. "Funny, the things I have to go through just to see it."

"My brother's hard-headed," Heath said. "But he knew what he had long before he left, else he never would have left it at all."

Nick pushed his boot heel into the wooden floor and rocked back. Maybe he had known and he had to hear it from someone else in order to believe it.

It had been thoughts of Heath that kept Nick from killing Eli outright. Jarrod hadn't been the only brother to save him that day.

"Heath," he said, "I'm glad you're my brother."

The End.


End file.
